


The Wednesday Thing

by Rhys (rhyssj)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Depression, M/M, Sandwiches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-25
Updated: 2003-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-25 22:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 47,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12542928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyssj/pseuds/Rhys
Summary: Chris does the Wednesday thing.





	1. Fabian

Chris had gotten into the habit of eating at this quaint little restaurant called The Red Rain Café every Wednesday at six-thirty. Big Mike always came along for the ride with his girl, Mandy. Chris wasn’t hassled as much as he could have been, eating in Orlando, but he still ran into shrill and squealing fans from time to time. Despite the presence of his over-sized bodyguard four tables over, Chris always felt very alone. It was time he took for himself.

Playing the normal man, every Wednesday night. Almost normal man, anyway. Chris was still Chris after all; that could not be denied or changed. He liked to people watch, to sit back and imagine that everyone was leading some sort of sordid life, full of illicit sex and crazy exploits. In all likelihood, they were boring as fuck, leading dull and mundane lives. But whatever, really. It kept his mind off Chris things, which was what he needed the most.

He’d been doing the Wednesday thing for about four weeks when he finally spotted a somewhat familiar face. Chris had only met him a handful of times. Lance was always shy about his boyfriends, keeping them away until he was entirely sure they were sticking around. But Chris remembered this one, even if he couldn’t remember the guy’s name. Chris knew those pale blue eyes and that wild mass of dark curls. Chris wasn’t blind, after all. Whatshisface was by far the hottest guy Lance had ever bagged. Chris remembered shit like that. Or hoped he did.

Whatshisface and his lady friend looked very close. When they started swapping fluids via tongue, Chris’s suspicions were confirmed. God, what a world. Lance finally managed to find a guy he could show off, and the guy was frenching someone decidedly not Lance. That was low. Of course, for all Chris knew, Lance and Whatshisface had broken up.

Chris returned to his roast beef sandwich, thoroughly grossed out. It was tacky to suck face in public, whether or not you were dating Lance Bass on the side. Especially then, Chris amended. Chris just didn’t need to see shit like that ever. Life sucked. The sandwich was good, though. Thinking about that helped him swallow the screaming anger in his head.

~~~

"Who? Fabian?"

Chris stopped chewing on his nails for a second, spitting the little pieces out. Swallowing them would give him worms, or so his mom had always told him. "Jesus fuck. Is that his name? Christ. How does Lance find these losers? Fabian. No self-respecting man calls himself that."

Joey snorted. It was absurdly loud in Chris’s ear, fuzzy like static. "Chris, man, you gotta put the doting father act away. Fabian’s a class act, dude. I’ve never seen Lance happier. Brains, brawn, dashing good looks. It’s almost painful to look at him. Six fucking months, man. Six!"

Six months, jeez. Lance rarely made it past a month with anyone, which was why Chris rarely met his boyfriends and why, Chris realised, he’d met Fabian more than once. Twice, Chris thought, they’d met twice, which made all the difference. Chris licked at a dot of blood on his cuticle. "Well, I’m sure he’ll get back on the horse sooner than later. Lance likes them boys far too much to stay away from cock for long. I’m sure he’ll find a new dude soon enough."

"Uh, why would he?" Joey clucked his tongue disapprovingly. Brianna and Kelly chattered in the background as Nikita barked. Joey’s house was insanely noisy, beyond even Chris’s high tolerance level. "They’re still together, moron. Lance’s boyfriends don’t come with, like, a leasing plan. Keep ‘em for six months then return ‘em for a newer, sportier model."

Chris bit his finger harder than he intended then winced. A swirling pit of discomfort settled in his belly. "Oh, well. Sorry. I was just jumping to conclusions there. Bass is a little commitment-phobic, right? So I’m well within reason here, thinking Fabio is long gone."

"Fabian, and no. I think this time is for real, man. Lance has grown up a lot about the guys he sees. These days, when he gets into it, it’s for keeps. Lance is in looove." Joey drew out the last syllable until it became obnoxious. Granted, Joey was always obnoxious, but this was more so. "I check my mail every day, waiting for the invitation to the commitment ceremony."

"You are a big loser, Joe," Chris said. Insulting Joey helped settled the unease in his stomach, but not much. They exchanged a few more half-hearted insults before they were both mumbling excuses about more exciting things elsewhere. Chris’s elsewhere was a cold beer.

~~~

Chris went back to the Red Rain Café the next Wednesday, taking his usual seat in the corner. He pulled out one of his notebooks and set to work on his latest song. Unlike JC who preferred pens, Chris worked entirely in pencil. If the pencil didn’t have an eraser, he would die.

When the waiter come up to his table, he ordered a smoked meat sandwich and a large vanilla Coke then went back to it. Song writing was hard work. Chris almost regretted the years he’d spent making fun of JC for the cracked-ass ideas he came up with. JC’s cell number was programmed into his phone in case of emergencies, Justin too, but neither one of them had the patience to deal with Chris’s burgeoning prowess as a musical genius. Which was fine. Those fuckers would regret it when he was a world-renowned master of effortless lyrical styling.

Chris had the foresight of slapping a wool knit cap onto his head and covering his eyes with yellow sunglasses. When Fabian walked in with his lady friend and met Chris’s eyes, he kept on walking, like he hadn’t recognised him. Chris was a little insulted by it. He was a member of Nsync after all, and shitty disguise or not, Fabio had met him a couple times.

Asshole.

Chris tried to keep on writing, occasionally dropping his head to take a sip of his Coke with the straw. It was exceedingly difficult. Fabio ... Fabian ... Whateverthefuck was sucking the face off his woman again, practically in her lap. Anger bubbled over Chris’s skin like lava, red hot and ready to singe the motherfucker. It had to be him. It had to be. That fucking cheater.

Chris tried to catch Big Mike’s eyes, but Mandy had all of his attention. She was a sweet girl. Big Mike was thinking about marrying her, Chris knew, and looking at them, all lovey-dovey and sprung on each other, Chris felt the anger seep from his skin, cooling into something manageable. It probably wasn’t him, Chris thought, picking up his notebook again.

What man in this world would be stupid enough to cheat on Lance Bass?

~~~

Orlando was a pretty lonely city these days. Occasionally, Chris bumped into some member of O-Town at three in the morning at Wal-mart, but O-Town didn’t equal excitement. Sometimes, Chris could convince Trevor to go out with him, but fraternising with the enemy was still looked down upon by Trevor’s people, so Chris was pretty much alone.

Lance flew back from LA on weekends, mostly to see Fabio. Chris would see his car show up in the drive way mid-afternoon every Friday. Sometimes, Lance came over to say hello, but mostly he didn’t. Chris couldn’t blame him. He remembered when his world was entirely Dani, how for that first year he couldn’t get enough of her, wanted to see her all the time.

Joey was sometimes in Orlando, sometimes in LA. He only lived two blocks away, so occasionally Chris would jog over to hang out with him, Kelly and the kid. They’d have a beer. Chris would grill some burgers, swim in Joey’s pool and play with Nikita. Still, he felt like he was intruding on some perfect family portrait, so he tried to be a big boy and have his own life.

Justin and JC were always in LA, except when they weren’t. Chris had gone out to visit them a couple times, but the flying thing still made him nervous, and he tried to force himself to space out the trips for his own well-being. All the drugs and booze he had to consume to get there weren’t good for the old heart.

Chris did the best he could, living between Orlando and Miami and, sometimes, LA. Miami was his hideaway home, right on the ocean, where he went to write and surf and be by himself. Quite ironic, then, that Orlando, his social home, wasn’t good for much except parties full of strangers and friends who preferred to spend time with their love buddies over him.

It was no wonder that Chris was in therapy.

~~~

Chris partied a little harder over the weekend than he intended. Through no fault of his own, he found himself participating in a threesome on Saturday night. A two guys and a girl type of threesome, where Chris not only got to eat out a beautiful woman but also got to blow a beautiful man. Most days, he would have remembered how bad an idea drunken threesomes were, but all that tequila made him easy, and he had a fetish for beautiful people. Sue him.

He woke up before them and started his computer, printing out some official looking document. Lance, the Gay Avenger, had assured him that it was legit, and Chris wasn’t one to question Lance’s ability to cover his own ass. Everyone knew Lance was gay, but no one had proof, and that was the point, really. Lance the Flaming Queer was the stuff of epic legends.

They both signed the paper. Kevin Rogers and Amber Westlake. They hadn’t had time to properly introduce themselves the night before. Doing it the morning after was tacky. Chris bid them both farewell and gave them cab money. It felt not unlike sending whores home. Not that Chris had ever paid for sex, but he imagined there would be plenty of resemblances.

Chris walked into his kitchen and pulled his whiteboard out of the pantry. Magnetically, he stuck it back on the fridge and wrote "no more threesomes." It came under "no more anger" and "no more binge drinking." Beside the latter, Chris carefully wrote, "you fail, loser."

He was trying to muster positivity in his soul when his cell phone started chirping. He followed it through the house, discovery three sleeping bodies he didn’t recognise reclined on various couches. Finally, he found his phone in the pot of his cactus. He dusted off the dirt.

"Hey," Chris said.

"Hey, man." JC sounded laidback and content. For a brief moment, Chris envied him, then remembered that envy was unbecoming of a gentleman and his own life was just fine. That was the beauty of positivity. "I’m in town for the day, cat. You interested in hanging out, getting a bite to eat?"

Chris rubbed his fingers over his forehead. "Yeah, sure. Gimme time to get dressed?"

"Sure thing, man. I gotta pick up my mail. An hour work for you?"

"Yep," Chris said and hung up without saying goodbye before JC could do it to him.

Chris looked at the phone for a moment before putting it on the mantel. He went around, shaking his loafers awake with his bare foot and pointing them towards the front door. He had an urge to ask them if they even knew who he was, but it wasn’t worth his effort, and Chris didn’t think he’d like the answers. Once they were gone, he headed for the shower and the aspirin.

~~~

"Have you seen Lance recently?" Chris asked over lunch, sipping a tall glass of ice water.

"He’s around, isn’t he? I thought I saw his car when I pulled up," JC said, picking at his salad. He kept offering pieces to Chris, but Chris kept shaking his head. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to manage his burger let alone anything else JC wanted to share. JC smiled around his fork. "Dude’s in love, man. You know how he gets, all bright-eyed and comfortable in his skin."

"Lucky," Chris muttered, crunching an ice cube between his teeth.

JC smiled. "Well, yeah." Under the table, JC tapped a bare toe against Chris’s shin until Chris looked up, the sight of him blocked by Chris’s un-styled hair. Idly, Chris brushed at it. "Man, are you okay? You’re unnaturally quiet. Did something happen, or something?"

"Hung over," Chris said and shrugged. It was the truth in a very simple way.

"I thought you weren’t -"

Chris lifted his eyebrows and put his lips together, puffing out his cheeks. He made a series of strange noises but nothing that actually made sense. He sucked another ice cube into his mouth then crunched on it. The crunching soothed him, made him relax, helped him focus.

"Oh," JC said, blandly. "Well, you tried. That’s noble, dude. Most people wouldn’t even."

"Yeah, I guess," Chris agreed.

He didn’t particularly mean it. He knew he sucked.

~~~

Every second Wednesday at five, Chris slunk into his shrink’s office, hiding his face. Dr. McDougall was one of those crazy-people doctors who dealt exclusively with famous people, so Chris wasn’t sure who he was trying to hide from. Maybe Jacob Underwood, who stomped out of his session every Wednesday, ten minutes before his time was up. Fucking O-town.

"How are you feeling this week, Chris?" She always asked first thing, her clipboard balanced on her knee, her pen tapping on the edge of it. Chris and shrinks usually didn’t last long in each other’s company, but he didn’t mind this one. She was a little spazzy, and he liked that.

"I’m fine," Chris said.

"Anything happen in the last seven days that you’d like to talk about?"

Chris glanced out the window and brought a finger to his mouth. He began to chew on it, pulling at an especially painful hangnail. "I drank too much," Chris said, watching a flock of birds flitter around the sky. He could probably write a song about that, if he wanted. Free As A Bird. Or not. "And I had a threesome. Two guys and a girl. I was one of the guys. Obviously."

"How do you feel about that, Chris?"

Chris shrugged. "I dunno. Okay, I guess. I liked it."

She asked a few more questions, pushing for information, but Chris wasn’t in the mood to give her anything except his money, clean and crisp twenties fresh from the bank. She was always suggesting he do things for himself, things that made him happy. Not talking was currently high on the list. Finally, six o’clock rolled around, and Chris settled his bill.

Supper time.

~~~

Week three, and that fucker Fabio was there again with the same goddamn woman. It had to be him, Chris decided. Chris knew he should break the guy’s legs, hurt him for hurting Lance. Slash the tires on his car, toilet paper his house, kick over his mailbox. Something, but Fabian’s continued existence forced Chris to be the better man and swallow his anger. Dr. McDougall would be happy. Anger management and all that, money well spent. Chris was a calm guy.

More than that, though, was that Chris was a smart guy. Chris knew things, a lot of things, and most importantly, he knew a little about revenge. Finishing off his Coke, Chris flipped his notebook to a fresh page and started plotting. He titled it, "Revenge Plan: How To Fuck A Cheater."

As Chris scribbled, he marvelled at how much more Zen he felt. Centred, like he could control his own destiny. Focussed, like all the anger in him was going on the page. Dr. McDougall had suggested a journal, but Chris had dismissed it as too girly. Writing a detailed revenge plan, though, that was a whole other ball game. It let Chris achieve true freedom.

Chris sat there, scrawling, until Big Mike finally came up to him and pointed out they should have left two hours ago. The Café looked like it had started to shut down, and Fabio was long gone. Feeling his lips twist with what could only be called a smirk of pure evil, Chris closed his notebook and tucked it under his arm. In the car, it rode like royalty in the passenger seat.

~~~

Joey came by with Nikita, carrying a box of dog toys and a few neat baggies of food.

"JC said you were feeling down, so here," Joey held Nikita out until Chris took her carefully into his arms, "you can borrow her for a few days, but I have rules, Chris. One, she comes back to me with a full and shiny coat. No shaving my dog, man. Two, don’t feed her shit. This includes sugar, cheese and booze. Three, walk her twice a day. She needs the exercise."

"Contrary to popular belief, I am not your two year old daughter," Chris said as Nikita licked at his beard, probably tasting the pizza he’d been eating. She was a strange little rat of a dog, but he liked her. It also meant no parties, and Chris appreciated that thought. "Thanks, Joe."

Nikita was cool, despite her humble beginnings. Joey always had the lamest dogs, who were well-trained and never peed on the furniture. Nikita was different. She barked like crazy at Chris’s plants, really loved eating red licorice and enjoyed watching television. They chilled on the couch for a good two days, watching Bruce Lee movies. She yelped at all the action scenes.

They took walks every night at eleven and every afternoon at two. Chris preferred the night walk. They’d take the long way to the local 7-Eleven, and Chris could hold her under his arm as he bought junk food and the largest Slurpee they offered. Nikita got one of the old hot hogs.

All in all, it was a good life. It almost brought Busta back, except it didn’t at all. Sometimes, having Nikita curled up on his pillow in bed with him made him unbearably sad. Joey had meant well, and Chris did feel better, over all, having Nikita around. The sadness was just overwhelming sometimes, a deep pit of despair that curled to knots in his belly.

When he woke up, the first thing he wrote on the fridge was "no more sadness" then followed quickly by "no more dogs." When Nikita looked up at him, he erased it with one swipe of a spit-wet thumb.

~~~

On Wednesday, Chris brought Nikita with him to the Red Rain Café and sat outside on the patio, drinking Cherry Coke and waiting for his grilled cheese and bacon sandwich. Nikita sprawled on the sidewalk, bathing in the warm Orlando sun. Big Mike and Mandy were laughing three table over, holding hands. Chris breathed the envy away from himself and opened his book.

Fabian and his lady friend came in fifteen minutes after Chris had settled. Chris looked up just as Fabian looked down at him, and there it was, that flicker of recognition. Quickly, Chris looked away and counted down from ten in his head. Just glancing at the fucker made Chris mad.

They glared at each other for the next hour. Chris was afraid to take a piss in case the asshole followed him and tried to start shit. Hand to god, Chris would pound Fabio’s face in if he was provoked. By the time Chris finished his slice of key lime pie, he was literally shaking with rage. Before Big Mike could follow him, Chris grabbed Nikita and jogged to his car.

Chris was only glad he’d remembered his Solitudes CD. The rolling sounds of the ocean and the melodic songs of pipers filled the car, covering him like a veil. Chris sat there for a long time, breathing deeply and struggling to be a better man. Sometimes, it seemed utterly hopeless.

~~~

They went driving then, just him and Joey’s rat-like dog, with the music blaring so loud that it shook Chris’s teeth. He didn’t drive too fast. He didn’t want Nikita to jump out. He drove for a long time, keeping his eyes locked on the road ahead. In time, his blinding anger dimmed, and he pulled into an empty parking lot. Once stopped, he dialled Justin on his cell.

"Hey, Chris," Justin said after the fifteenth ring.

"Are you busy?" Chris started biting at his thumb, picking at the skin. "I can call back."

"I got some time, man, before I’m set to go on. I already warmed up, and besides, it’s you," Justin said, as if it was really that simple. It probably wasn’t, Chris knew, but the thought made him feel better, less insane, more in control. "What’s up, man? You sound weird."

"If someone had known Wade and Britney were fucking before you caught them, would you have wanted to know?" Chris asked, his thumb pinched between his teeth. Cars whizzed by on the highway, loud and fast, and the sun had begun to set in the west. The sky was bright red.

Darkness exploded in Justin’s voice when he asked, "Did you know?" He was still angry, still bitter and humiliated. Maybe that was good. There was something about taking happiness away from Lance that was making Chris sick to his stomach. Lance deserved to be happy.

"Lance, man," Chris said. "Fabio is cheating on him. For at least a month, I think."

"Fabio? I thought his name was Fabian."

"Whatever," Chris said. "That fuck is still cheating on Lance."

"You have to tell him, Chris. Shit, what the fuck is wrong with you? You know how Lance is! Falls for a guy then will do whatever the guy wants!" Justin was shouting now, the heat of his rage seeping over the line, and Chris stared at his phone, like he couldn’t believe it, and most of him didn’t. "What if they aren’t using condoms, Chris?! What if that fucker is cheating on Lance with more than one person?! A fucking month, Chris?! Fuck! You!"

The problem with cell phones, Chris thought, was that slamming them down just broke them, so the nothingness that followed was almost anticlimactic. Or it should have been, anyway.

~~~

Back home, Chris grabbed a plastic bag and clipped Nikita’s leash to her collar. He wasn’t in the mood for a Slurpee or junk food, so they took a new route through a park, past a group of teenagers smoking weed. He was tempted to stop and ask for a puff, but they looked like punks, and punks, Chris had learned, had serious rage issues when it came to boybands.

His phone started vibrating. "Yeah?"

"I’m calm now. I’m sorry," Justin said. The words were stilted and forced, which meant Justin was lying through his teeth, but even knowing that made Chris feel better. They didn’t fight as often as they should, and they usually only fought when they were both in a great mood. Chris felt crippled by the messy state of his own brain. "You still have to tell him, Chris."

Chris nodded to the darkness and sighed a little. "Okay."

"I would have wanted to know," Justin said softly.

"I know," Chris replied. "I would have told you, man."

"Tell Lance then."

"I will," Chris said, looking up at the stars and counting them. He could feel Nikita weaving in between his legs, knotting him in her leash, but he stayed standing as he stargazed. In his ear, Justin’s world rumbled and hummed. "Are you about to go on?"

"Yep. I’m waiting for the cue, so I should probably go before you end up in the hands of one of the crew. You gonna be okay, man? JC’s got us all worrying. You know how he is," Justin added, and Chris imagined the massive eye roll and the twist of fond annoyance on his lips.

"I’m getting there," Chris said. "Don’t worry about me, kid."

Justin hemmed and hawed for a moment before deciding, "Okay. Love you."

"Love you, too," Chris said and hung up.

~~~

Lance showed up on Friday, pulling into his driveway at a quarter after three. Chris knew he only had about two hours before Fabian showed up with flowers and a pizza. His plan, as it stood, was to pretend he was taking Nikita for a walk. She waited patiently by the door, wagging her little tail.

Lance was taking his suitcases out of the car when Chris walked across the street, Nikita pulling him along as if she could sense his reluctance. She immediately went to sniff at Lance’s shoes, sticking her nose under his pant leg. Lance looked down then glanced over his shoulder. Not sure what else to do, Chris lifted a hand and crooked his fingers a few times, waving.

"Is that Nikita?" Lance asked as she moved onto his luggage, sniffing.

"Yep. Joey let me have her for a few days. We were just about to go for a walk." That was the segue Chris had been waiting for, and he tried to keep his voice cool and steady as he ever so casually asked, "You wanna come? She has short legs, so we won’t be gone too long."

"The same could be said for you," Lance replied, grinning.

Despite it all, Chris felt his lips curve with a smirk. "Looked in a mirror recently, Bass?"

Lance laughed. "Just let me put this shit inside then I’ll go for a walk with you, all right? Fabian’s not coming until tomorrow, anyway." Lance’s voice softened at the mention his name, and Chris felt the dagger in his heart drive a little deeper. Chris was going to kill that fucker.

~~~

There was no good way to tell the guy you’d always been a little bit in love with that the love of his life was cheating on him. Chris listened to Lance talk about him, heard all about their sex life and the little things Fabio did to brighten his life. It sounded like the best relationship ever, when you excluded the fact that the motherfucker was a cheating scumbag dickhead.

Chris thought about getting drunk, to make it easier, but that thought just depressed the living shit out him. He’d lied to Justin, Chris thought as he walked around with Lance and Nikita. He probably wouldn’t have told him if he knew Wade and Britney were fucking around behind Justin’s back. Chris would have told JC, who would have told Justin. Maybe. It was hard to guess at what he would do, since he hadn’t known, and Justin had walked in on them anyway.

"Fabian’s cheating on you," Chris finally said when they turned the corner and the houses, only the width of a street apart, came into view. Lance had moved into the community first; Chris had followed, not realising. Joey had phoned them both later as they argued who had the rights to live on the street to point out he actually had dibs first. He was living there already.

Chris almost thought he hadn’t said anything at all, that he’d only thought it really loud and, thus, he was mistaken. Lance was unnaturally beside him, and his step faltered. They stopped in the middle of the street with Nikita between them. Lance’s brow was wrinkled.

"What did you say?" Lance asked, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down on his throat.

"He’s cheating on you with this woman. I’ve seen them around Orlando, during the week, when you’re not here. I’m sorry," Chris said, holding out his hands helplessly. His fingers itched to press into the pale skin of Fabian’s neck. Looking at Lance, Chris knew he’d waited too long. Chris should have said it right away before Lance started telling Chris how happy he was.

Lance put a hand over his mouth. He closed his eyes. "Are you sure it’s him?"

"Yeah, I’m sure," Chris said. "I’m sorry, Lance."

Lance’s eyes snapped open, and he nodded. "Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Goodbye, Chris."

Lance left him there, standing in the middle of the road. After five minutes of breathing deeply, of trying to think the best instead of the worst, Chris and Nikita went home to watch Bruce Lee movies, share a pizza and not focus on how shitty the whole fucking situation was.

~~~

Lance showed up on Sunday night with his bags, coming in through the back door. Chris had thought it was a burglar and grabbed the butcher’s knife from the kitchen before going to greet him. The air from outside was warm and humid, and it rolled into the house like a tornado. Lance looked tired and very, very sad. Dropping his bags, he picked up Nikita instead.

"I don’t want to believe you," Lance said, his fingers moving on Nikita’s head as she licked at his face, her tongue thin and narrow like the delicate pink whip of a snake. Chris had wanted Joey to name her that, Snake. It suited her. "I want you to tell me you’re lying to me."

"I’ve seen him three times, Lance, and if I go to the Red Rain Café on Wednesday, I’ll see him again. I’m not lying. I wish to fuck I was, but I would die before telling you a lie like this. You know I would," Chris said slowly, and he felt it, the need to give his life to Lance, heavy in his bones. That was a problem, Dr. McDougall always said, feeling like he owed them so much.

"Can I stay here until then? I told him I was going back to LA."

"I have therapy on Wednesday," Chris said. "You’ll have to come with me."

Lance laughed sharply then nodded. "Okay. I think I’m going to go to bed."

"Pick whichever room you like. There should be sheets," Chris called after him.

Later, Chris went upstairs and found Lance in his bed, head cradled in the pillow Nikita normally slept on. She was wedged between the two, protected under Lance’s hand. Without waking either of them, Chris stripped down to his boxers, pulled on a tee-shirt, and climbed in.

~~~

Therapy went well. It always went well. They talked about Lance, and Chris’s feelings for Lance, and his guilt now that maybe Lance’s boyfriend had made him sick, that Lance had been unhappy more because of Chris telling him than Fabio playing him. And his anger, too. They talked a lot about the white-hot rage searing the delicate skin of his heart.

Chris felt like a fool sometimes, talking about this shit. He was used to shutting up and bearing it, to taking everything life had to offer and then some, to never telling anybody how mad he was that things had sucked when he was a kid and that they still sucked, even though he was living a relatively easy life, all things considered. Really, that was the kicker. Chris no longer had anything to blame the anger on, no reason to be so pissed, yet he still was.

When Chris came out, Lance closed his magazine and stood. They didn’t talk as they walked to Chris’s car then drove across town to the Red Rain Café. Big Mike and Mandy were already waiting in the parking lot, holding hands and laughing with each other. If Lance looked at them too long, Chris didn’t notice. He tried not to, anyway. Lance’s eyes were blank.

Chris led Lance to his favourite table in the darkest, most hidden corner. When Lance didn’t order anything, Chris got them both club house sandwiches, his on white and Lance’s on whole wheat, both of them without mayonnaise and with extra tomatoes. They drank Cokes.

Fabio came in right on time, his mouth pressed to his woman’s neck, kissing her. Chris glanced back at Lance, who pulled his hat a little lower and pushed his sunglasses a little higher. Lance stayed like that until the waitress took Fabian’s order then looked away quickly. Chris knew they’d moved onto sucking face. It was like clockwork, the Wednesday thing. Everything was always the same, always routine. Fabio even ordered the same thing every week: ham on rye.

"You all right?" Chris asked, reaching for Lance’s hand before stopping himself halfway, so his fingers only touched the pinky of Lance’s left hand. It bent under Chris’s touch. Lance shook his head, keeping his eyes to the wall. "You want me to beat the shit out of him?"

Lance didn’t say anything for a long time until a quiet inquiry of, "Would you?"

"In a fucking instant. I should have done it sooner, man, and I’m sorry for that. I’ll go do it right now," Chris said, pushing his chair back. It screeched over the ceramic floor. When he stood, his legs felt shaky like they didn’t know how to hold his weight. Anger pulsed through his veins, pushed on by every furious thump of his heart.

"Wait," Lance said, "no. Sit down."

Chris dropped back down into his chair. His hands were shaking, so he tucked them under his armpits. In the background, Chris could hear Fabio laughing, echoed soon after by the high voice of his woman. Suddenly, Chris wasn’t very hungry at all. "You wanna go, then?"

"I should," Lance said, but he didn’t move. Lance lifted a hand to his face and dabbed his fingertips along the curve of his eyelids. Chris couldn’t see the drops of the tears on them but knew they were there, which just shattered Chris’s heart. Lance didn’t usually cry. Of them all, Lance was the one who knew how to hold his sadness and disappointment and anger inside, protected. Lance looked down at his fingers then looked up again, his brow helplessly creased.

Chris got up and walked to the counter, flagging down the waitress. The sandwiches were boxed up, and he settled the bill at the register. When he returned, Lance was still staring at the wall, but he’d moved his hand over his mouth. Chris put a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped.

They were almost out the door when Lance turned suddenly and veered towards Fabian’s table. Big Mike was already moving after him, and Mandy stayed back, out of the way. Lance didn’t start shit, though. He stopped at the edge of Fabio’s table and stood there for a moment.

Fabian looked at Lance for a long time before turning his eyes to where Chris stood.

Chris lifted his hand and gave Fabio the finger.

~~~

Chris had thought Lance would stick around to lick his wounds, but he was gone by the next day. Chris had watched from the window as Lance systematically changed every lock on his house, a tool-belt slung low on his hips. At noon, Lance got into his car and didn’t come back.

Chris walked Nikita over to Joey’s house, her toys slung from his arm in a plastic bag from Wal-mart. Joey was the only one home. Chris found him lounging on the couch, watching Oprah. Without a word, Chris sat down beside him and reached for some peanuts.

"Lance stopped by on his way out of town," Joey said.

Chris dragged Nikita into his lap and started rubbing behind her ears. "Yeah?"

"That took balls, man. Telling him. Good balls," Joey amended, nodding when Chris looked over. Chris puffed out his cheeks and shrugged a little. "No, man, seriously. Better now than later or finding out for himself, like Justin. Lance will get over it. You did the right thing."

Chris sighed into Nikita’s fur, hauling her against his chest. She licked at his nose.

"You can keep her a while longer, man, if you need her."

"She’s ready to come home," Chris murmured, letting her go. She pranced happily across the floor then disappeared into the hall, probably making a mad dash to the kibbles and bits in the kitchen. "I’m just gonna go, I think." Chris was already off the couch, his feet leading him away.

"You can stay for dinner. Kel won’t mind," Joey said, following him to the door.

"I need to go home." Chris was three steps from freedom before Joey caught him by the shoulders and forced him to stop. Chris braced himself. When the hug came, he didn’t fight. Joey’s breath came warm into his hair, and Joey’s hands locked at Chris’s heart. "I’m okay."

Joey made motherly noises, like he didn’t believe a word of it, and Chris didn’t blame him. He wasn’t the least bit convincing, not even to himself, especially not to his therapist, but there wasn’t much Chris could do about it. He just wasn’t okay. Sometimes, it felt like he never would be, but he couldn’t think like that, so he mostly didn’t think at all.

"I’m gonna ask Kelly to marry me on Wednesday," Joey whispered.

"She’ll like that," Chris said, closing his eyes. Joey, married. Chris tried to be happy for him, and knew he failed before he even began. "Well, congratulations in advance. That’s cool."

"I just had to tell someone. You can go, man. Sure you won’t stay for supper?"

"Plenty sure," Chris assured him.

"All right," Joey said then let go of him reluctantly. "Talk to you later, then."

"Bye, Joe."

"Bye, Chris."

Chris waved as he walked down the steps. Inside, it felt like maybe he was going to cry.


	2. Lance

Chris fell into a funk where he didn’t do the Wednesday thing for two weeks and ended up skipping therapy for the first time. He didn’t drink, though he wanted to, and he didn’t smoke up, though he had pot upstairs in his underwear drawer. He didn’t even find a really hot guy and girl to sleep with, to try and prove shit to himself that he couldn’t even really think about. He lay on his couch, ate chips and watched tv. Chris finally caught Joey on Fame. The show really sucked.

It was a little after nine, right during the credits for Law & Order, when Lance came into the living room and dropped all his shit in the middle of the floor. Chris moved his legs so Lance could sit down then slid his feet into Lance’s lap. They watched Law & Order without speaking.

After the news, Chris turned off the television. Lance was rubbing his hands together like crickets did with their feet. Swish, swish, swish, it was strangely calming. Chris also thought Lance needed some hand cream. Swish, swish, swish, Chris almost felt like he’d be able to sleep.

"When’s the last time you took a shower?" Lance asked, sniffing a little.

Pretentious motherfucker, Chris thought. He shrugged. "A while ago. Am I stinky?"

"Not really. I’m trying to gauge which one of us is in worse shape," Lance replied, matching Chris’s nonchalance with his own lift of the shoulders. Lance, for once, was actually dressed down, wearing a faded white tee-shirt and jeans with a hole worn in the left knee.

"Well, my boyfriend didn’t cheat on me and break my heart."

Lance knit his lips together for a moment then nodded. "There’s that, but you." Lance looked over at Chris, and god, his eyes were sad. Red-rimmed, like he hadn’t been sleeping or had been drinking too much. Knowing Lance, it was probably both. Lance had gaggles of friends, all of whom would gladly go out partying if they knew it would make Lance feel better. "You’ve been skipping therapy, haven’t you?"

Chris scowled. "What? Do I have it written on my forehead?" Chris rubbed at his brow.

Lance shook his head. "I know you, that’s all."

"You have a house right across the street," Chris said, pointing in its general direction.

"It’s lonely. And I was hoping you still had Nikita," Lance muttered, leaning forward and putting his head into his hands. There was a hole in the back of his shirt, too. Lance looked rough in that way only Lance could. Better than 99% of the population, but that didn’t mean shit.

Chris sat up then tugged his sweatshirt down over his belly. "Listen, man, if you want to get cheered up, I’m the last fucking guy you should be hanging out with. I mean, look at me." Chris gestured to his greasy unwashed hair and his dark mat of beard stubble and all the stains on his clothes. "You’ve caught me at a bad time, Bass. I’ll just bring you down."

Lance rolled his eyes. "Can I stay or not?"

"Don’t get pissy," Chris warned, "or you really can’t stay."

"Thank you," Lance said.

Chris nodded, puffing out his cheeks with a breath of air he was afraid to exhale.

~~~

Justin phoned while Lance was puttering around upstairs, knocking miscellaneous crap over. Chris had been in the middle of brushing his teeth for the first time in five days when his cell started chirping. The toothbrush was still in his mouth when he answered the phone.

"Hey, J," Chris said, scrubbing at his molars. The plaque was all over them like paint.

"How are you doing?" Justin asked, sounding way too much like his mother. They’d had a rough couple days, Chris and Justin, where Justin kept calling and Chris just kept saying, "uh huh, uh huh," until Justin gave up and let him off with only the required "love you" and random instructions about food and hygiene. "Have you been eating? Want me to order you a pizza?"

"Where are you?"

"LA. I have two shows, but I still remember the number, man, and I will get you a damn pizza if you promise to eat it," Justin said, clicking his fingernail against the receiver. It was Justin’s way of being stern over the phone. "And what the heck are you doing?"

"Brushing my teeth. Lance and I are having a sleep-over until he realises I’m also sucking out his soul with my current lack of fun-ness." Chris opened his mouth wide for one last good scrub. Pursing his lips, he spit into the sink then took a drink. "I warned him I was a downer."

"I’d hang out with you if I could," Justin said. "And the offer’s still there to come for a couple dates, you know. There’s plenty of room on my bus. Trace’s grandma’s birthday is next week, and his mom’s making him come back for that. Bring Lance, too. How’s he doing?"

"Obviously worse off than originally suspected if he’s reduced himself to my company."

"Chris," Justin said, taking a tone to his voice that tried to cut through the shit.

"Sorry, sorry. I am a worthwhile human being," Chris said.

Justin’s exasperated sigh echoed from Los Angeles. "Can I talk to him if he’s around?"

"Hold on," Chris said, already going for the stairs. He climbed them two at a time then wove in and out of all the rooms until he found Lance’s crap on the floor of Chris’s bedroom. Yay, bed buddies. Chris rolled his eyes. "Lance?" Chris stuck his head into the master bath.

Lance was naked, one leg into the shower. He looked a little startled. Chris felt the same sort of shudder go through him. The only reason he didn’t slap his hands over his eyes was because Chris knew Lance would get all offended if he did. "Justin wants to talk to you."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks." Lance reached for the phone, and Chris handed it to him. Their fingers brushed, though Chris did everything in his power to prevent it. Once the phone was out of his hands, he darted out of the bathroom and sat on the bed instead. Lance. Naked. Breathe.

~~~

Lance came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist. He handed the phone to Chris then went back into the washroom, shutting the door. The shower started up as Chris put the phone back to his ear with a cautious, "Justin?"

"Still here," Justin assured him.

"What was that about?"

"Just stuff, man. Don’t ask me again, because I ain’t gonna tell you. Lance is gonna order a pizza, though. He says all you’ve been eating is chips, and that’s so not a meal," Justin said. In the background, Chris heard Lynn pipe up. Justin chuckled. "My mom says pizza’s not good for you either, but it’s better than chips. Listen, I gotta get to the gym. Be good, all right?"

"What if I want Chinese food?" Chris asked.

"Then get Chinese food, man. I don’t care. Just eat something quality."

"Whatever," Chris said. "And ix-nay on the ouring-tay, all right? I’m not up for it."

"I figured. Don’t worry about it. Six weeks to Challenge, man. I’ll see you then."

"Okay," Chris said. "Watch your feet when you’re dancing, kid, or you might trip."

Justin laughed. "Sure thing, old man. Love you."

"Love you, too," Chris said.

~~~

Chris had hoped Lance would respect his need for sleep whenever he could get it by not waking him up at ten the next morning. Chris hadn’t even drifted off until six, long after Lance started snoring beside him, but no. Lance shoved him at the shower and made vague promises of breakfast. When Chris came down, there was bacon sizzling in a pond of grease.

"Why am I up?" Chris asked. If he looked even half as bad as he felt then he expected Lance to run screaming. Lance didn’t, just cracked two eggs and dropped them into another pan. Blearily, Chris looked around then caught sight of his Rules for Happy Living whiteboard. Shit.

Mortified, Chris tried to think of ways to go back in time so he could make it disappear before Lance could see it. Lance liked to know things, and he knew things by reading and shit. There was no way Lance hadn’t stood at the fridge, reading about all of Chris’s weaknesses.

When Lance had his back turned, Chris got up, slipped past him and made a grab for the whiteboard. The toast popped up, which always surprised Chris, and in his stupor, Chris dropped the board onto the ground. It landed with a deafening slap against the ceramic tiles.

Inexplicably, Chris felt his cheeks heat with the same sort of searing heat that attacked his eyes. His issues, all his crap, he was a little private about them. Everyone knew, of course, because Chris did everything loudly, but he didn’t like having to talk about it, or having them know details. Even his mom didn’t know the multitude of reasons why therapy was a good idea.

Chris stood there as Lance slid all the food onto the plates then turned off the burners. Frozen, he watched as Lance knelt down and picked up the whiteboard. He slapped it back on the fridge, sliding the magnetic edges around until the top was level. "There," he said.

"I just want to put it away," Chris mumbled.

Lance shook his head. "No," he said simply. At the bottom, he wrote "no more hiding" with a purple marker he grabbed from the top of the fridge. "You want ketchup with your eggs? I know your love for it comes and goes, and I don’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities."

"Ketchup and I have parted ways when it comes to eggs," Chris said. He sniffled a little.

"Good. That’s seriously gross." Lance grabbed the plates then looked pointedly at the glasses of juice until Chris picked them up. "Now, come on, before it gets cold."

"You sound just like your mother," Chris said, following him to the table.

"I love my momma," Lance said, looking smug.

~~~

Chris let Lance have his own stubborn way for a few days before he snuck out of the house and barricaded himself in Lance’s place instead. Lance was making him feel strange. Chris knew he was hurting, which was why he let him. Lance held the antidotes to all his lies in his eyes, and they never smiled, even when his mouth quirked. Chris just really wanted to lie down and not get up.

Chris hid in one of Lance’s guest rooms and lay down, fighting to fall asleep. He wanted nothing more than to take a nap. Lance kept dragging him out of bed every morning at ten, forcing him to go places, like to Kroger to get cheese or to Jiffy Lube to get his oil changed. It was an epic battle of wills that Chris didn’t even have the energy or the desire to participate in.

When Chris woke up, Lance was beside him, curled up and snoring softly. One heavy arm was draped across Chris’s stomach, fingers twitching with dreams. Jerk. After nearly two weeks of feeling nothing at all, Chris could honestly say he felt angry, which wasn’t helping. It was actually pushing him into a shaking knot of anxiety and agitation, centred right in his belly.

Chris’s squished his eyes shut and counted to ten very, very slowly. Dr. McDougall liked to pretend it really worked, and Chris could begrudgingly admit that it, at the very least, gave him time to think and come to rational conclusions. Waking Lance up by yelling at him was not a good idea.

Chris lay there, staring at the ceiling. Lance smacked his lips a few times then came awake with a start. Rolling onto his back, he didn’t go further. Chris was still mad at him, but it was fading fast. Being truly angry at Lance was an impossibility in Chris’s life. It was all mixed up in shit Chris couldn’t talk about, stuff like his feelings and what he really wanted from Lance and big terrifying things that gave Chris the cold sweats when he thought about them.

"Why aren’t you in LA?" Chris asked, rubbing at his itchy nose.

"My friends were driving me nuts. I couldn’t take them, not after ... stuff," Lance said vaguely, flopping his hand around over his belly. "I didn’t know where else to go, so I came here. Misery loves company, my momma always said. And you, I don’t know, you needed someone."

"I was fine by myself," Chris muttered.

"Okay," Lance agreed in the way that annoying Lance Bass way that meant he really didn’t agree at all.

~~~

It was Wednesday, which Chris conveniently forgot until Lance bullied him into getting dressed to do the Wednesday thing. Big Mike, Chris was told, had already been called and was ready and waiting at the Red Rain Café for Chris and Lance to show up. Against his will, Chris took a shower and shaved and even slicked up his armpits with Old Spice deodorant.

Lance smacked Chris on the head when he tried to leave without his notebook. For a second, Chris didn’t know how Lance had known its importance, but it said right on the cover, "Chris’s Notebook: Songs Written at the Red Rain Café, 2003." Chris kept it on the coffee table.

Chris didn’t know why Lance wanted to go back to that place. By missing the last two weeks, Chris had all but given Fabio permission to woo his lady friend on the premises. Chris didn’t know about Lance, but he really didn’t want to see the guy who broke Lance’s heart. It was broken, too, even if Lance was acting strangely okay. Lance had really loved that guy.

Chris hoped Fabian was miles out of reach. If he showed his perfect face, Chris was going to go ape-shit on him like Chris should have done that first time he recognised him, and like he should have done again three weeks ago whether Lance wanted him to or not.

Chris settled at his normal table, and nearly beat Lance with a chair when he tried to sit elsewhere. Dining alone hadn’t exactly been Chris’s choice, originally. It was a combination of Big Mike thinking his presence was a distraction to Chris’s welfare and Chris feeling like the third wheel with the lovebirds. Now, Chris didn’t mind it, but making Lance fuck off was low.

Chris got his usual Coke, even after Lance tried to entice him into a chocolate milkshake. Lance further tried to usurp Chris’s world by suggesting he try something beyond a sandwich, but Chris wasn’t going for it. For one, the sandwiches were good. For two, everything else was gross.

~~~

Fabio didn’t show, and Chris was grateful. He didn’t get much written at all. Lance kept his nose in the book he’d bought across the road in the used bookstore, some Jane Austin novel that Chris couldn’t catch the title of because Lance kept putting his fingers over it. Instead of writing, Chris doodled on the paper, making random designs and pattern. It soothed his nerves.

"Is that group stuff or solo stuff?" Lance asked. With over-exaggerated bends of his delicate fingers, Lance folded his book closed and put it down on the table. Chris felt his eyes drawn to the knuckles, the fine dusting of hairs on his skin. His chest tightened inexplicably.

When Chris looked up again, Lance was watching him. "Ideally, both. They’re a little, well, tortured, though, and I know we don’t do that kinda shit on our albums." Chris shrugged then scratched his blunt fingernails over his stubbly jaw and neck. "Whatever. I don’t know."

"Could I read them sometime?"

Chris snorted. "They ain’t art, Bass. I mean, I wrote them, you know."

"How long is it going to take you to get it through your head that I put ‘Falling’ on the soundtrack not out of pity, but because I actually liked it? Hmm?" Lance leaned forward, widening his eyes. Under the intensity of Lance’s gaze. Chris squirmed. "Let me read them."

Chris glanced away, prepping a hand to wave to the waitress if she ever looked over. It would have been too ideal to catch her attention right then when Chris really needed it. Defeated, he turned back to Lance and rolled his eyes. "Didn’t your mama teach you any manners?"

"Please," Lance added, grinning like a shark.

"They’re not any good, Bass."

Lance’s smile softened. "Show me anyway."

"I don’t get you," Chris finally said, pointing at Lance with his straw, drops of Coke hanging off the end and plopping down onto the tabletop. Lance held out his index finger, plucking a cola-tear from the white plastic and bringing it to his mouth. "You should go, Lance."

"I should stay," Lance replied. Lance lifted his hand suddenly, and three seconds later, the bill was on the table, the waitress fawning concernedly over Lance. When she left, Lance lifted an eyebrow as he tucked the twenty under the salt shaker. "You up for ice cream?"

"Am I not fat enough?"

Lance smirked. "No," he said.

~~~

The problem with Lance not fucking off like any sane man would was that he inevitably started finding Chris’s secret stashes of things decidedly not good for him. Instead of being a fuck about the junk food, Lance just opened up a box of twinkies and started munching. At first, Chris declined a snack cake, but Lance was insistent and annoying about it.

"I’m gonna lose weight before we start promo." Chris peeled back the plastic wrapped on the twinkie then bit into it, vanilla icing squeezing onto his lips. "I swear, man, I’m gonna look so fine. These are just crutches." Chris gestured vaguely at the four pound bag of jelly beans and the three bags of Doritos Lance had also found. "Better than booze, you know? Or sex."

"I don’t actually work as a spy for the record label, Chris. You should know this."

"No, I know. It’s just, well," Chris pinched his stomach fat with his fingers, "chubby."

"Fuck off," Lance said, laughing. It was so fondly bemused that Chris didn’t even feel attacked, which he often did when people laughed at him without a particularly funny reason. Last Chris had checked, his fat ass was definitely unfunny. "A twinkie isn’t the end of the world, Chris. If it helps, and it’s not hurting you, what’s the big deal? And you look good."

Chris swallowed the dry clump of cake in his throat. A thousand retorts jumped to the forefront of Chris’s brain, all of them self-deprecating, but somehow, Chris didn’t think any of them would be right for Lance right then. Instead, Chris bit off another piece of twinkie.

"The way I figure it," Lance said, putting his feet up on the coffee table and stretching out, "is that it should be about the music now. If we’re all cookie cut-outs, then what’s the point? I read this review once about how talent was, like, reverse proportional to attractiveness. Essentially, the guy called us all ugly, but more than that, talented. I’d rather be that."

Chris turned that around in his head. "And we can’t have both?"

Lance shook his head then reached for another twinkie. "Not according to this guy’s theory. The question then becomes, do you want to be able to sing your ass off or do you want to have dashing good looks? 98 degrees was this guy’s example for that. I always felt a little bad for that Justin. He’s not an unattractive guy, but next to those three robust young fellows? Oh boy."

"He kinda stuck out like a sore thumb there, didn’t he? At least I’ll always have Joey."

Lance looked over, his mouth drawn into a straight line. "You can’t let up for a second, can you?"

"Can’t being the operative word," Chris said, puffing out his cheeks and widening his eyes. Lance stared back until Chris deflated, wind whistling through his teeth. "Okay. I’ll make a better effort." Chris sighed, counting down from ten in his head. "I am an attractive man, with a sparkling personality and a rapier wit. Joey’s not half bad either."

"That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

Chris rolled his eyes. Anything else would have given Lance the truth, and Chris didn’t particularly want that. Not until Lance was willing to give some of it back, and looking at him, that didn’t seem very likely at all.

~~~

It was Wednesday again when Chris woke up, completely on his own, to hear the bitter sounds of Cry Me A River wafting up the stairs. Padding downstairs in a tee-shirt and boxers, Chris found Lance staring at the television, crouched in the middle of the floor. Lance was wearing only pyjama pants, and they dipped so low in the back that Chris could see shadows.

Chris took a few steps then stopped, his hand reaching out against his will. "Lance?"

Lance looked up then swiped his fingers quickly under his eyes. Red, Chris noticed, and watery looking. Lance ducked his head as his cheeks turned pink. Okay, so he was upset about everything, about the Fabio thing. That settled something for Chris, but it’d been nearly a month. Lance was a little delayed about extreme emotion, Chris knew that, but this was almost scary.

"You all right?" Chris crouched down next to Lance, his knees protesting under his weight, but he ignored them. The worrying part was the way the flap of his boxers billowed open, exposing his soft dick. Fixing it would be acknowledging it, so Chris just didn’t. "Missing him?"

"Hating him," Lance said softly, rolling his eyes. "It’s pretty dumb, but there you have it."

"Justin was like that for a while," Chris admitted. With Justin, nobody had really known how much he was hurting, except Chris. The thing about being best friends was that Chris got to sit there and try to carry Justin through his pain until Justin could carry himself. "It’ll get better."

"It was only six months, not three years. It doesn’t compare."

"Apples and oranges, man. Different, but still fruit. My therapist says that."

"Smart lady," Lance said, rolling back on his heels and sitting down on the carpet. On the screen, Justin was hiding in the closet. The irony in that shot was so painful that Chris couldn’t even look at it, turning to Lance instead, who smiled. It never reached his eyes. "You’re awake."

Chris settled on the floor, a hand covering his dick. "Routine, man. I get it. It’s good."

"I was wondering when you would," Lance said, reaching to turn down the volume. Chris’s eyes were drawn to the long line of his back, the soft swells of muscles almost hidden below the pale expanse of his skin. An insanely handsome man. Sometimes, Chris could hardly stand to look at him. Whenever he did, all he could see was Lance, all he wanted to see was him.

"We have a couple of hours before I gotta get to my session. You want to, I don’t know, go riding, maybe eat something? I haven’t been out on my bike for ages, man." Chris just hadn’t felt like it until that moment right then, with Lance looking like someone had killed his dog. "I promise, I won’t splatter you on the road or anything. I’ve ridden with Joe behind me before."

"I trust you," Lance said. "All right. Let me get dressed?"

"No way, man. We’re doing it naked." Chris grinned suddenly as Lance chuckled, low and deep in throat. Sobering images of Lance on Chris’s bike, bare as the day he was born, floated across Chris’s mind, but he didn’t stop smiling. "Wear jeans and long sleeves, all right?"

Lance nodded and hopped up the stairs to get dressed. After a moment, Chris followed.

~~~

Lance was a little more relaxed on the back of a bike than Joey had been. He kept his arms loose around Chris’s waist, hands resting on Chris’s thighs, his fingers spread. Twenty minutes away from the house, and it started raining, a torrential downpour completely without warning. Lance didn’t ask that they pull over, but Chris did anyway, stopping at an old make-out spot. Just stepping onto the gravel brought back the memories, both good and bad. They jogged from the bike to a ragged canopy covering three equally rough-looking picnic tables.

Chris didn’t really know what to say suddenly. One look at Lance, and Chris wasn’t sure all the water on his face was from the rain. Lance smiled at him when he caught Chris looking, but it looked tight, forced. Chris wasn’t good with emoting, not when he was ... what he was, feeling like he did. Sometimes, it came easy, and that was when Chris knew he was feeling okay.

Rain leaked in through the roof, and Chris reached for Lance’s hand. Lance gave it and let Chris weave their fingers together. Lance cried a little then, Chris thought, looking at his face. Misery loves company, Chris’s mom always said. When it rained, it poured. It was all so cliche.

They sat there a while, not speaking. Chris watched the rain thread through the air in front of him, pooling like lakes in the gravel parking lot. Lance’s hand against his palm, damp from the humidity and the mist of the storm. His breathing came evenly. Chris listened to it whistle through Lance’s nose, picking it out above the roar of the downpour and the whir of cars.

"He wants to get back together," Lance said quietly.

Quite stupidly, Chris blinked and asked, "Fabio?"

"Fabian. And yeah, him. Left a long message on my cell. I knew I should have limited message length," Lance said wryly, his fingers tightening against the back of Chris’s hand. "He won’t ever do it again, blah, blah, blah, he’s sorry, blah, blah, blah, the tests came back clean."

"You gonna give him another chance?" Chris asked, even though he didn’t want to know the answer. No way did he ever want to hear Lance say he was going to go back to that fucker. Even thinking about it made Chris’s blood boil. And the other thing, the him and Lance thing, which was too much to think about, and completely a figment of Chris’s imagination. Idiot.

"No." Lance shrugged. "I can forgive a lot of things, but cheating on me? Never."

"You deserve better," Chris said firmly, nodding his head a little. "You deserve the best."

"Deserve is a loaded word," Lance leaned over and bumped Chris’s shoulder with his, lips twisted in something resembling a grimace, "but thanks, I’m over it. Who am I if I can’t bounce back from shit like this? I am defined by my inability to succeed at relationships. I’m not complaining, mind you, but I’ve learned to take it standing up. Some of us are loners, right?"

"You better be careful, Bass, or you’re gonna turn into me, and nobody wants that."

"That wouldn’t be a bad thing," Lance said, smiling. He tucked a hand under his armpit, and Chris noticed for the first time how badly he was shivering. Without asked, Chris folded his palm over the one hand he already held and started rubbing Lance’s icy fingers. "Thanks, Chris."

"You’re welcome." Chris brought Lance’s fingers to his mouth and blew on them. It felt strangely intimate, like they’d kissed instead, but Chris didn’t let that shake him. He stared at the pale tips of Lance’s fingers. "And it’s a bad thing, when I’m like this, to resemble me."

"If you say so," Lance said.

"I do," Chris said firmly. "You don’t want to be me, Bass."

"No, you’re right about that." Lance pulled his hand out from under his arm and tapped his fingers against Chris’s jaw. "I want you to be you, Chris."

Chris smiled. "Ooh, profound. You’re like the Kama Sutra."

Lance laughed at that, loud and sharp. "You sure you don’t mean the Kabbalah?"

"Uh, yeah. What did I say?" Chris asked, already feeling heat on the tops of his ears.

"The Kama Sutra."

"No shit. Huh. Well, I’m sure both apply," Chris said, grinning. It took every muscle in his body to lift the corners of his mouth. It was good, to laugh about it, to make light of things. Humour normalised things for Chris, always had. Chris was intensely aware of Lance’s hand.

~~~

The rain kept falling, so they ate their lunch there, protected from the storm by the canopy of wood over their heads. It was still too damn hot, and Chris tee-shirt clung to his back, soaked through with sweat. Lance looked like a drowned cat, his hair stuck against his forehead.

"This sandwich is pretty good," Lance said, chewing. There were dark crumbs on his lips.

"The strange side effect of the Wednesday thing is that I’ve discovered there’s more than peanut butter and jelly to a good sandwich. I gotta bring you to my deli, man. I can’t even pronounce half the shit I buy, but hey, I can make a mean sandwich when I want to." Chris bit into the rye bread and ripped off a good chunk. He chewed a few times then swallowed, glancing over at Lance’s lunch. "Did I put too much mustard on it? I bought Grey Poupon, you know."

"You know me and mustard, but it works here. Very tasty," Lance added, nodding.

"Next thing you know, I’m gonna have my own cooking show on the Food Network. The Chris Kirk-Sandwich Show."

Lance barked an abrupt laugh then started choking, bits of sandwich spraying from his mouth. Chris pushed a bottle of water at him then thumped on Lance’s back after Lance took a sip. Finally, Lance held up a hand, and Chris stopped. "Not when I’m eating, Chris, jeez."

"That was such a lame joke, man. There’s no excuse for nearly choking to death."

Lance chuckled. "I guess I’m just easily amused. My momma always said that about me."

"No kidding."

They ate in relative silence after that. Lance had packed cupcakes for dessert, chocolate ones covered in puffs of neon pink icing and candied sprinkles. They were good. Lance had brought two for each of them. Chris was going to get fatter if Lance stuck around, this he knew, but it seemed worth it. Somehow, with Lance intruding in on his space, Chris felt steadier.

"I’m going to have to go back to LA for a little bit in a few days," Lance said, later. They were sitting side by side on the picnic table, watching traffic. The rain had slimmed down to a drizzle. Chris’s big plans about taking Lance to the most beautiful place on earth were dashed, but this old make-out spot was all right. "I have obligations, things I told Johnny I’d do."

"And you’re gonna stay out there, right? It’s probably more exciting on the west coast."

"I’m coming back," Lance said, holding out his pinky. Chris smiled then hooked his with Lance’s, swinging them back and forth. However that had started, Chris didn’t know, but they all did sometimes, when things were too serious. "And Challenge is almost here. Three weeks."

"So soon," Chris murmured.

"After that, I’m all yours, okay?"

Chris smiled at that, but in his stomach, something heavy settled. The problem, Chris figured, was that he still didn’t know why Lance was hanging around. A corpse was more fun than him these days. Even though day by day, it seemed like he got little better, Chris wasn’t sure how close that was to the actual truth. Chris was still stumbling through his life, only half awake on the best days, and it worried him. "You don’t really need to stick around, Bass. I’m fine."

"Okay," Lance said, "but I’m still coming back."

"In one ear and out the other with you, isn’t it? Fine. Come back, but maybe I won’t be here. I had a life once," Chris said. He meant it lightly, but it came out like he felt: sad and bitter. Lance’s face was masked with sympathy. Chris sighed. "I just don’t need a babysitter, is all."

"That’s not why I’m here," Lance said.

Chris didn’t ask why he was.

~~~

Therapy was long and boring, and Chris had a million things to say and not a single word to say it all with, not easily. There was no way to explain that he had welcomed the last thing he needed into his house, and now Lance wouldn’t go away. Chris couldn’t ask him to leave. Hint, yes, and suggest that Lance’s well-being lay well beyond the reach of Chris’s grasp, but not ask.

"Sometimes," Chris said quietly, staring out the window. Everything that came out of his mouth seemed to be whispered, like Lance would be able to hear through the wall between them. The waiting room seemed horribly close when secrets were being discussed. "Sometimes, I really wish I was, you know, normal. Not normal in, like, nine-to-five job, two-point-six kids, but normal in the head. A lot of people are, I hear. I’m a little angry that I’m not. Just a smidgen."

Dr. McDougall’s leg jumped around under her clipboard. She looked up at him, staring at him through the glasses perched on the end of her nose. "What makes you so angry about it?"

"What doesn’t?" Chris sat back, spreading his legs and folding his hands over the soft flesh of his belly. He met Dr. McDougall’s look evenly. She did ask, he thought, and I am paying her too much for all this head-work. "All right. I don’t like to complain about anything that’s happened in my life, because what’s the point? But I have to wonder where it ends."

"What do you mean by that?"

Chris shrugged, even though he knew what he meant. "Sometimes, I feel like the world is out to get me, you know? No one else I know is this fucked up in the head. Okay, C, sometimes, and J gets a little dark, but it doesn’t ... it doesn’t bring them to their knees like this."

"Have you talked to them about your depression?"

Chris snorted. "As if, doc. They have enough shit to deal with. We lead crazy lives."

"Have you talked to Lance about it?"

"Lance," Chris repeated, and Dr. McDougall nodded. Her leg was still hopping around, and his right one started jiggling, too, unable to ignore the rhythm. Chris wondered if the people downstairs were wondering who the fuck was jumping around above them. "No, I haven’t."

"Would you consider talking to him?"

"Lance is leaving," Chris said, and whoa, that came out bitterly, tinged with red-hot anger and something sadder, too. "Lance has a real life, where real things happen, and it’s all very real. I wish him the best, I really do. I realise I sound incredibly resentful here, but I’m not at all."

Dr. McDougall tried to push a little more, but Chris had said all he was going to. He left the office in a foul mood that followed him outside, only a few steps ahead of Lance. Chris was tempted to tell Lance to get the bus to the Red Rain Café, but it was still raining and making him wait for public transit seemed like a pathetic form of revenge for something that didn’t warrant vengefulness in the first place. It was a quick, wet jaunt across the city. Big Mike and Mandy followed them in, and Chris took his usual table as Lance made a side trip into the bathroom.

Chris ordered some fancy sandwich for himself then got Lance something equally odd, and felt better by doing it. Except Lance, of course, really liked the sandwich, and didn’t complain that Chris had stolen his say in the matter of his own dinner, or even get a little mad.

It wasn’t that Lance was a prick. Well, he could be, when he was drunk, but Chris had always just assumed it was Lance’s way of covering his own ass. People tended to swarm Lance when he was wasted, eager to learn all the secrets that he kept hidden in his self-made cloud of ambiguity. The world was desperate to out Lance Bass, and Lance wasn’t having any of it. Kid had balls, that was for sure. Being mean forced people to step back, from him and the truth.

"Fuck," Lance said quietly, later, when his plate was empty.

Chris looked over his shoulder and felt his stomach drop. Fabio, that fucker, without his lady friend in tow, eyes scanning the restaurant. He settled on Chris first then moved to Lance, taking a step forward, then another, and another, until he stopped at their table. Fabian was an incredibly handsome man, Chris noticed again. His mom had always warned him about appearances.

"Can we talk?"

"No," Lance said, tapping his fingers on the table, "and need I remind you, by not respecting my wishes, you’re breaking a certain contract we both know you signed. Fuck off."

Chris cracked his knuckles so loudly that Fabio looked over at him. Innocently, Chris offered an extravagant shrug then crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back. Fabian muttered something under his breath then turned on his heels and walked straight out the door. The sweet jiggle of the bell was the most beautiful music Chris had heard all day. Lance looked grim.

"If he talks," Lance said then shook his head and pinched his lips.

"He won’t talk. They never do." Which was the truth. Chris didn’t know why, but he suspected either they were all unnaturally lucky bastards, which was entirely possible, or their PR machine was even more fearsome than Chris thought, which wouldn’t have surprised him either.

"Someday, one of them will. If it’s not him, it’ll be the next person, or the one after that, and then." Lance bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Chris had seen Jim do just that on many occasions. Lance was so like his parents sometimes that it was almost funny, but Chris knew that was something to be proud of. Chris only hoped his mom echoed in him.

~~~

As the time for Lance’s return to the west coast grew nearer, Chris felt a weird sort of anxiety begin to build in his stomach. He resented Lance as much as he loved him. Chris wished Lance would leave but also desperately wished he would stay. It put him into a bad mood, but Lance didn’t let it bother him. He did Chris’s laundry, which was nice. Chris hated laundry a lot.

Fabio called twice more. The second, and final time, Chris listened from the kitchen as Lance screamed at him. The anger in his voice knotted Chris’s stomach. It sounded too much like his own, the suffocating kind that never went away once it was learned. Chris had mastered it as a kid, but the real source of it was still nothing he could pin down. It had just always been there.

Chris didn’t know what to do, so he didn’t do anything except order a pizza covered in the shit Lance liked best. When Lance came down, the only tell-tale marks of his distress were the red rims and pale greens of his eyes. He mumbled thanks over the pizza, and ate quietly.

"Wanna go look at dogs?" Chris asked, later. The moment it left his mouth, it began to resemble the dumbest thing he’d ever said, and there had been some doozeys. "There was an ad in the paper about a new litter, and I don’t know. You like dogs; I like dogs. It could be fun."

So they went to look at dogs. The lady, Maureen, took them out back to see the puppies, explaining all about their lineages, and their mixes, and their whatevers, but Chris wasn’t really listening. Dogs were dogs, in the grand scheme of things. Chris liked mutts just as much as the overpriced fancy ones. More probably, since mutts had that underdog kind of charm Chris liked.

Lance had his pretending-to-listen face on. Every so often, he’d nod and say, "hmm."

Chris leaned over the fence, watching the dogs run around. They weren’t brand new, but they weren’t full-grown either. One of the dogs, a female, came up behind one of the bigger ones and bit him on the ass. Chris laughed so abruptly that Lance and Maureen stopped talking and looked over. Chris felt the overwhelmingly need to explain himself. He waved at the puppies.

"That one bit that other one on the butt," Chris said, pointing at the butt-biting dog. She looked back at him, her tail wagging back and forth, sending up puffs of dust from the ground.

"She does that," Maureen said, rolling her eyes. Lance was looking at the dogs. "I try to feed her, and she nips me in the rear. It doesn’t hurt, mind you, but it’s making her hard to sell. Parents aren’t really into dogs that bite for their kids. Go figure. Anyway, as I was saying ..."

Chris tuned her out again, crouching down and sticking his arm through the fence. The butt-biter came up to him and sniffed at his palm. After a few good snorts, she licked across his hand then turned around to bite another dog on the ass. Chris laughed again, sitting down on the ground to watch. Feisty little thing, he thought, wiggling his fingers. She returned to him happily.

After a while, Chris noticed that Maureen had left. It was just him and Lance and a bunch of dogs. The life, really, if you somehow worked the other three guys in there, and a nice house, and a lifetime of singing. Lance reached through the fence to pet the butt-biter on the head.

"Maureen’s willing to sell her to you, if you want," Lance said. "On sale, even."

"I don’t know," Chris said slowly.

"It’s been over a year, Chris. Don’t you think you’re ready?"

"Maybe," Chris admitted. Between Lance’s earnest puppy-dog eyes and the butt-biter’s hopefully wagging tail, Chris felt his will bending to forces greater than himself. She was a pretty cool dog, and the butt-biting talent would definitely be fun at parties. "She’s gonna be big, man."

"I’m about to get kicked off my own bus, so I’m thinking we’re going to go the two-man two-bus route, with Joey, Kel and Bri on a third. Plenty of room for a good-sized dog," Lance said, and damn, Chris couldn’t deny the logic. "But no pressure. Whatever you want, Chris."

The butt-biter grinned at him, a long pink tongue lolling out of her mouth.

"Okay," Chris said. "I’ll take her."

~~~

The plan was to drop Lance off at the airport then drive over to get his new dog. Chris wasn’t such what he was more nervous about, but he felt restless and grumpy. It was almost an improvement over the absolute nothing of the past few months, anger not withstanding. Maybe.

"Joe and I will be flying back together for Challenge," Lance was saying, puttering around on his Palm Pilot. Chris had the sneaking suspicion Lance was actually playing games, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off the road to prove his point. Lance had booked his ticket firmly in the middle of rush hour, and the traffic was bumper to bumper.

"I’ll be driving down," Chris murmured idly, eyes firmly on the road ahead.

They parked, and Chris saw Big Mike and Mandy standing near the check-in counter. Lance must have called him, then. Chris surely hadn’t. Just once, Chris wanted to be able to do something normal, without having to worry about being mobbed. Even his unpopular ass got the teenies screaming. Chris figured it had something to do with being so close to Justin all the time.

"Come to the bathroom with me?"

Chris raised an eyebrow, but just nodded and didn’t say anything. There were a few men in dapper business suits standing around, either at the urinals or the sinks. Lance went straight for the handicapped washroom stall, and Chris followed him in. He only hoped none of the men were with any sort of tabloid. It didn’t look good, but Lance didn’t seem to notice. The freak.

"I just wanted to say goodbye without an audience," Lance explained, smiling.

"Oh," Chris said.

Lance stepped up to him and wrapped his arms around Chris’s waist. It wasn’t a usual Lance Bass hug, which involved plenty of back-slapping and attempts to pry away the arms grabbing him. It was a little uncomfortable for a myriad of reasons, but none of them mattered. Chris squeezed back, putting his face against the warm skin of Lance’s neck and closing his eyes.

"You’ll be all right." A cross between a question and a statement, and Lance looked unsure.

"Always am," Chris said.

Lance smiled again. "Okay."

"Have a good flight," Chris said, sounding a lot more chipper than he felt, "and bring me back a souvenir." For good measure, he punched Lance affectionately on the shoulder. Lance stepped back into the metal wall of the stall, looking surprised for a moment before he laughed.

"All right. I’ll get you something tacky and ugly and useless. Is that good?"

"Perfect. Thanks." Chris grinned, even though it hurt his cheeks and made him feel stupid. Inside, he felt a little crazy. Well, crazier than he always felt, like he was hanging onto sanity by the thinnest of threads when usually he could pretend he had a pretty good grasp. Chris gave Lance one last squeeze. "You should probably get going, or you’ll miss your flight."

Lance nodded, still smiling, and Chris mirrored it all back. There was a strange moment that could only be described as horribly awkward before Lance bent his head and stepped out of the stall. He didn’t look back, and Chris was glad about that. It wouldn’t have been a pretty sight.

~~~

Chris went to pick up his butt-biting dog straight from the airport. She was waiting for him, a big red bow tied around her neck and smelling strangely flowery. Maureen gave him the papers for his dog, proving she’d had her shots and that she was healthy. Chris clipped a leash on the butt-biter’s collar, and they walked together to the car. She jumped into the front seat.

"You ain’t driving," he said, pushing her into the passenger’s seat. She licked at his hands then turned around to look out the window, her nose leaving smudges on the glass. She needed a name, he realised, and as endearing as Butt-Biter was, she deserved something better. On a whim, he turned on the radio, the sounds of Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir wafting out of the speakers.

"Kashmir," Chris said, starting the car. His dog climbed into his lap, attracted by the jingle of his keys. Gently, he lifted her and put her back in the passenger seat. He regarded her for a moment, narrowing his eyes. "Kashmir. Hmm. No. I don’t think so. Doesn’t suit you."

They had just pulled onto the freeway when Eric Clapton’s Layla started playing. After the original American Woman, some Aerosmith song he couldn’t remember the title of and He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother, it was almost like a sign. When she started howling, Chris knew.

"Layla," Chris said, and she barked at him, waggling her tail. It flopped back and forth with muted thumps on his leather seats. She tried to jump into his lap again, but he caught her by the collar before she could. "Layla it is then. Good choice. Very classy. Layla, my new dog."

~~~

When they arrived home, Chris felt a little weird. She followed him inside then proceeded to match his movements for the rest of the night. Lance had bought a couple toys, so they played together. More often than not her mouth ended up attached to the butt of a stuffed animal, but she didn’t try to rip them apart, which he appreciated. Busta had destroyed toys.

Chris called Justin when it was late enough that his show would be over, and he’d still be awake if he hadn’t gone out partying, which Chris doubted. Justin had caught a bug on tour, and trying to shake it, Chris knew, was proving impossible. Touring didn’t given anyone time to heal.

"Hey, Chris," Justin said when he picked up. He yawned in Chris’s ear. "What’s up, yo?"

"I got a new dog," Chris said, looking down at Layla where she sat in his lap, curled into an easy to manage parcel of fur. Exhausted from all the butt-biting, Chris imagined. He petted her as she slept. Occasionally, she opened her eyes, but mostly, she was out cold.

Justin hummed a little in his throat. "What kind? What’s her name?"

"She’s a Rottweiler/Lab mix, and Layla," Chris said. At the mention of her name, her ears twitched. Softly, Chris ran his fingertips over the edges of them. "She’s cool, but." Chris’s words hung on his tongue and wouldn’t fall any further, but he thought Justin understood anyway.

"You just need to get used to her, man. It’ll be good. It’s probably pretty weird, huh?"

"A little," Chris admitted. "I’m not bugging you, am I? I can go, if you’re busy."

Justin hemmed and hawed a little before finally speaking, his voice dramatically lowered. Chris crossed his fingers and hoped it wasn’t anything he was going to regret knowing. "Don’t tell anyone, but I just got the fourth season of Deep Space Nine on DVD, and I’m working my way through it."

Chris laughed. "Shit, man. Don’t admit that to people. You really need a girlfriend, kid."

Justin didn’t say anything for at least a minute. "You don’t read the tabloids, do you?"

"That shit will rot your brains," Chris said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, well. I’m kinda sorta maybe seeing Cameron Diaz."

Chris choked on his own saliva. "No fuck. The movie star?"

"Yeah. I don’t know. I’m keenly aware that I’m the rebound relationship, but I also don’t have the heart to stop myself. She’s nice, you know, and we have a good time. I ain’t stressing it, any which way." Justin chuckled. "So yeah, I have a girlfriend, but she’s not around."

"And you’re left watching Star Trek episodes." Chris grinned. "That’s so sad, J."

"Shut up," Justin said, laughing. "And hey, how’s Lance? He never returns my calls."

Chris felt the levity whistle out through his teeth, like he’d been sucker-punched in the belly. "You’d have to ask him. I dropped him off at the airport a couple of hours ago. Los Angeles beckoned, so Lance went. Business, you know. To tell you the truth, it was about time."

Justin didn’t say anything, but Chris could practically feel the vibes of disagreement oozing from the phone and into his ear. They talked a little longer about nothing in particular, then Chris gave the cue to hang up with a quiet, "love you, kid." Justin matched it with a "love you, old man," and then there was complete silence, save for the soft snores of Chris’s dog.

Chris stood up, keeping Layla in his arms. She wouldn’t be small enough to hold much longer, so it was a novelty to be able to carry her around. In the kitchen, Chris stopped in front of the fridge. The whiteboard, which had remained relatively untouched since Lance’s addition, looked back at him, taunting him with a clear space big enough to write on.

Chris picked up a marker and wrote, "no more Lance," then went to bed.

Layla slept beside him, in Lance’s place.


	3. CFTC

Challenge arrived before Chris was ready for it. The last two weeks had been decent. He and Layla drove to Texas, where Chris had left a music project in the works when the depression had gotten really bad. The band guys were pretty understanding. It was in their contract to be, which was why Chris made sure he’d hired someone else to deal with the business-type stuff that couldn’t wait for Chris’s brain to sort itself out. He recorded some demos, wrote a few songs.

For the two weeks he was in Texas, he drove back to Orlando twice for the Wednesday thing and one therapy session. Chris didn’t mind it. Layla liked riding in the car, and they went for walks in Mississippi, Louisiana and Georgia, and Chris finally stopped and smelled the roses. His grandma Kirkpatrick used to say that to him, stop and smell the roses, dear, lest they turn to shit.

Chris really missed her sometimes.

Chris packed up his shit with a strange sort of trepidation swirling in his belly. It wasn’t nerves. There was no good reason to be nervous. He hadn’t grown a third leg. He hadn’t gotten himself arrested. The guys had seen him at his worst, had seen him whacking off and getting laid, had seen him cry until snot flowed like the Mississippi river into his mouth. Not in years, of course, but Chris figured shit like that would be hard to forget.

Mostly, Chris thought he was nervous about seeing Lance.

Chris kinda missed the guy a lot.

~~~

Chris saw Justin first when he swung by Chris’s room to say hello. Looking at him, Chris wondered if he hadn’t somehow, across an insanely huge distance, sucked the fat off Justin’s bones and wrapped it firmly around his own. The kid was thin and sickly looking, but that didn’t stop Chris from wrapping his arms around Justin’s waist and squeezing with all his might.

"Just how sick are you?"

"Closer to dead than alive, man," Justin murmured, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Chris swayed with him. They were like two reeds in the wind, and the wind smelled strongly like medicine, thanks to the incredible reek of Justin and his disease.

Justin pulled back then narrowed his eyes, flickering them over Chris’s face. Chris remained perfectly still and let him, even after Chris started to squirm from the intensity of Justin’s expression. Finally, Justin tapped two fingers in the middle of Chris’s forehead and said, "You’re definitely looking better. Are you feeling any better?"

"A little," Chris admitted.

"I worry, man," Justin said and clasped a hand over Chris’s shoulder. Chris stared at it.

"Nothing to worry about," Chris said, just a few seconds too late. Chris was too sober to pull off the chipper Kirkpatrick routine, and Justin knew what to look for. The kid was too aware for his own good. Sometimes, Chris wished things were a little different. Justin deserved the bliss that rode high on the shoulders of ignorance, and he didn’t ever get it. "I’m fine, kid."

"If you need an ear, you know where to find me. Anytime, all right?" Justin draped a heavy arm over Chris’s shoulders. "I’m not even gonna be bitter you stopped calling once Lance showed up to wear the shining armour. Doesn’t he know I’m the one who looks great in metal?"

Chris laughed. "Whatever, man. Where’s this hot girlfriend of yours? I want to meet the movie star who’s doing the nasty with my best dude." Justin twisted up his face, and Chris laughed again. This time it almost felt like he meant it, sitting light in his belly. "She any good?"

"I ain’t complaining," Justin said, grinning. "Now stop, cuz I ain’t telling you nothing."

With the topic effectively changed, Chris proceeded to tell Justin all about his new dog, complete with picture Chris had taken and gotten developed at the 24-hour Wal-mart.

~~~

They were meeting later, the five of them, at some prestigious party that was being held after a Crobar thingy that Chris was expected to attend. Justin was skipping out on that one, in desperate need of a nap and more drugs, but he’d be at the later one, with his hot girlfriend.

Lance stopped by before the Crobar shindig, wearing a black tee-shirt that said "Julie’s Supper Club" on it and well-worn blue jeans. Chris answered the door with his shirt around his elbows, the blinding white of his chest like a beacon to Lance in the hallway. When Chris commented on it, tugging his green tee-shirt over his belly, Lance laughed and shook his head.

"Better pale as a ghost than what C’s done to himself."

Chris looked over his shoulder. "Dare I ask?"

"He spent a day in the Florida sun without sunscreen on. Did I mention he did all of this on a boat, in the middle of a gigantic body of water? His back, good lord, I don’t know how he’s bearing it. Joey’s got him on the bottle already. JC’s insisting that he’s fine, but he’s not. We’re supposed to humour him for the time being, but if he gets worse, he’s down for the count."

"Justin’s a walking corpse," Chris said, hooking a sweatband around his head. Not the classiest of looks, but Miami was humid and hot, and Chris was already sweating everywhere. Really, when it all came down to it, Chris didn’t give a fuck about what he looked like. His mom had always stressed comfort, which Chris had always associated with looking slightly untidy.

"Joey’s fine. Annoying, as always. He salted my soda on the plane when I wasn’t looking. I’m trying to think of ways to get him back, to avenge myself." Lance lifted his eyebrows, obviously trying to goad Chris into helping, but Chris just shook his head. "Okay, but I hope you know what you’re missing. Plus, I’m unfairly outnumbered. He’s using Kel’s brain power."

Chris smiled, and meant it. "I’m sure you’ll do fine."

"Your faith in me is appreciated, Chris." Lance stepped a little closer, plucking one of Chris’s turquoise necklaces out of his toiletry bag and hooking it over Chris’s neck. Lance smelled like Listerine, the touch of his breath cool on Chris’s skin. "How are you feeling?"

"I don’t know when everybody got it into their head that I’m dying or something, but I’m fine. Better than fine, even. I’m great," Chris said, but he forced it through clenched teeth. "It’s not like I’m suffering, you know. Or in terrible pain, or anything. Stop acting like I am."

Lance’s mouth never lost its amused curl. "We must have different definitions of pain."

"Fuck you, all right?" Chris turned around and groped for his wallet. Stupid dumb-assed party. He didn’t even want to go, not if Justin wasn’t going to be there. It was only a photo op, a chance for them to pop Crobar’s cherry before the fans descended like locusts the next night.

"Chris," Lance said hesitantly.

Chris brushed past him, determined to reach the door before Lance could attempt another heart-to-heart. Who did Lance think they were? A bunch of girls? Somewhere in Chris’s ear, the words of Dr McDougall about gender stereotypes echoed, but Chris didn’t give a shit.

"Just give me the weekend, all right? Give me four fucking days to pretend everything’s bright and shiny in Chris Kirkpatrick land. That’s all I’m asking, Lance, four days. Just lay off." It was a lot more angry than Chris expected, and he felt like he’d tossed himself back to square one. These last few weeks, they’d been all right, and now Lance, and everything. "Please."

Lance didn’t say anything for a long time, long enough that Chris turned back to see if he was even still there. Tossing himself out a window probably seems preferable to having to deal with me, Chris thought wryly. But Lance was still there, a hand on his chin. Finally, he nodded.

"I got a new tattoo," Lance said, already tugging at his collar. "Give me your opinion?"

Chris tucked his fingers into Lance’s shirt and pulled it down. A huge fucking bull’s head, the size of Chris’s fist, popped into view, marked in the middle with green bass clef. Despite the unease in his belly, Chris barked a quick laugh. "How much more symbolism could you squeeze into that thing, Bass? Jeez. But it’s really damn cool, man. Really nice."

"I tried to fit something inspirational about my momma, but I thought it was too much."

"You cheeky monkey," Chris said, laughing. He felt better when Lance laughed back.

~~~

Crobar didn’t suck half as hard as Chris was hoping it would. JC had mixed pain meds and alcohol, so he was out of his mind and, as a result, delightfully hilarious. They took turns holding him upright for pictures. At one point, Chris found himself pulled to Joey’s chest as the photographers hungrily snapped pictures, like sharks in a pool of grade A sirloin steaks.

"So where’s this fancy new dog of yours?" Joey asked, JC leaning against his back with his eyes closed and his mouth opened. He looked like he was sleeping, from what Chris could tell. Lance was over at the bar, going over the stockpile of booze and making sure it was ready. Chris was pretty sure they had people who did that for them, but Lance was a lot of a control freak and double-checking every damned thing anyone did ever was in his genetic makeup.

"In Orlando, with Mandy." At Joey’s blank look, Chris added, "Big Mike’s girlfriend."

Joey blinked. "He has a girlfriend?"

"Uh, yeah. They do have lives outside of babysitting us, you know." Chris picked at a scab on his left knuckles, flicking at the dried edges with his thumbnail. "I thought about bringing her, but I don’t trust the fans not to snatch her. Brian Littrell had his dogs stolen."

"Like, years ago," Joey said, but shrugged. "Fine, but I want to meet this infamous butt-biter and see if she gets along with Nikita. She could use a friend, you know, but I swear, man, you gotta nip this butt-biting problem in the bud." Chris crooked an eyebrow, and Joey laughed. "Like that? After Lance told me about her thing, it took me all plane ride to think that up,. Well, that and trying to salt Lance’s Coke. Dude has eagle eyes about shit like that."

"Revenge will be sweet," Lance said, sauntering up. He flicked Joey on the temple. "Looks like everything’s ready for tomorrow night, and the photographers have moved onto greener pastures. What say we move on to the real party? They tell me Justin Timberlake’s in town."

Joey squealed loudly, waking JC up with a start, and batting his eyelashes. "Justin Timberlake. He’s so dreamy and talented." Joey hugged his arms to his chest and shivered, a blissful smile plastered over his ugly mug. "I hear he’s dating that handsome Cameron Crowe."

"Now there’s an image I’m gonna have to scrub off my eyeballs. Thanks, Fatone."

"No problems, Kirkpatrick. I live to give you wet dreams."

JC snorted and started giggling helplessly against Joey’s back, shaking with laughter. He looked a little unsteady, so Chris was ready to grab him if he fell over. Lance seemed to be thinking about doing the same thing, his hands out on the other side, swaying with JC’s motions.

"I didn’t mean it like that, C, you perv. I’m was just saying ..."

"Spare us, Joe. Please. Believe me, if I’m having wet dreams, they ain’t about you."

JC oohed as Joey leaned forward, ears perked for gossip. The two of them, complete girls, which Chris wasn’t even supposed to think. It was the gender stereotypes thing again. "Is there something you’re not telling us, Chris? A new lady in your life, some babe way too hot for you?"

"If there is, please introduce me, because I haven’t gotten laid in." Chris swallowed the sudden knot in his throat, dropping his eyes. Did they really need to know about all the whoring around he’d done, the drunken threesomes, the never knowing names? "It’s been a while, is all."

"And you, Lance," Joey said, turning his attention to Lance, who chuckled lowly. Chris flicked his eyes upwards, and Lance was looking right at him, a wry sort of twist to his lips. Joey caught it, too, and grinned. "Are you back on the horse, or have you sworn off the dick?"

Lance shrugged. "I’m riding solo for awhile. We’ll see what happens. I’m in no hurry."

"I got laid by the hottest mama," JC murmured, smacking his lips. Chris uncapped his bottle of water and handed it to JC, who drained it dry then handed the empty bottle back. "Sweet like honey, man, and shaved as smooth as silk. Lady kept me up all night Wednesday."

"And you’re paying for it now, doofus," Joey said affectionately, tugging JC’s arms around his waist, and JC opened his eyes again, grinning. He laughed, and Joey echoed it, their laughter moving over each other’s in perfect harmony. "She shoulda put the lotion on your back."

"That would have been nice, man," JC agreed, loopy and smiling. He lifted a hand and crooked his fingers at Chris. Chris waved back. JC was an unlucky motherfucker, but compared to the rest of them, he actually got off easy. His bad luck was limited to once or twice a year.

"Is he okay?" Lance asked, and Joey shrugged.

"I guess. I’ll pass him off to someone at the party. Someone pretty. Isn’t that right, C?"

"Mmm, yes."

Chris smirked, but didn’t say anything. When Chris looked away from JC, Lance was watching him again. Lance rolled his eyes, and Chris laughed outright. They went outside into the hot, humid Miami night, split up into cars and went to find Justin, who hadn’t missed much.

~~~

Chris sleepwalked through the party that night, smiling when he needed to, joking when it was necessary. Everybody, they laughed with him and mirrored his grins, and it almost felt like Chris was over everything, over himself, just for that moment. And a small part of him was angry too, that they couldn’t seem to tell the difference between real happiness and its ugly brother.

Justin introduced him to Cameron, even though they’d met before, and Chris held her hand a second too long. She pulled back first, and he didn’t blame her. Justin lifted his eyebrows, but Chris shook his head no. Nothing to talk about, nothing to say. Fuck, Chris just wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep. Maybe JC was excuse enough to get out of there.

"This punk troubling you, ma’am?" Chris asked, folding his hand over JC’s shoulder and shaking him a little.

"I think he needs to get out of here," Emmanuelle said, picking up her drink. She bent over and pressed a quick kiss to JC’s cheek. Old lovers, Chris knew, who sometimes hooked up when they felt like it. "JC, sweetie. Get some sleep and drink plenty of fluids. We’ll talk later."

"I like your poncho," JC replied, bringing her hand to his mouth.

Emmanuelle laughed again. "Okay, sweetie. Thank you."

"C’mon, Don Juan, you’re my excuse to vamoose." Chris and hooked JC’s left arm across his shoulders. Chris led JC, teetering unsteadily, outside into the cool, quiet air and found a car to drive them back to the hotel. JC slept the entire way, and Chris ended up carrying him to his room, using the back stairs the fans didn’t know about. Chris could only imagine the gossip.

Chris got JC undressed, stripped down to his vibrantly red skin, and made sure he was lying on his belly, back slathered in aloe cream, before leaving him there. Outside in the hall, there were people milling about, but Chris knew he was radiating some heavy fuck-off vibes. They left him alone, and he rode the elevator up to his own room with girls who ignored him.

Lance was waiting in the hall.

Chris fished his keycard out of his pocket. "Don’t you have some wounded manly pride issue to attend to?"

"Not yet. Joey and I agreed my retribution wouldn’t start until tomorrow. Personally, I think he just needs the extra thinking time, even with Kelly, but I appreciate the calm before the storm. It helps me focus," Lance said, following Chris inside without asking to be invited.

Chris kicked off his shoes and fell into the bed, where he’d left the covers pulled back for easy access. His eyelids felt like they were made of lead. "Dude, I’m no fun tonight. I just wanna go to sleep, you know? Maybe I’ll be fun tomorrow, but it’s looking slim. Good night."

Lance sat on the other side of the bed, already stripped down to his boxers and a white tee-shirt. One of Chris’s, Chris noticed idly, which he hadn’t asked to use, either. "I thought maybe you want a bed buddy. I get used to sleeping with someone, and I think I got used to you."

"Whatever," Chris said, and he meant it, too. The Pope could climb into bed with him right then, and Chris wouldn’t care. The Pope probably wouldn’t have helped him out of his jeans or tugged off his smelly tee-shirt, bringing him a clean one instead. So Lance was better than the Pope, whoop-de-do. Chris didn’t think the Pope would have tucked him in, either.

"Good night," Lance said, close to Chris’s ear in the dark.

"‘Night," Chris replied, already mostly asleep. It did feel better with Lance there.

~~~

The next day started off okay, in the way that Chris didn’t wake up with a knot of dread in his belly. The scavenger hunt was fun, and the press conference was fun, even if Chris didn’t talk much. Honestly, he didn’t have much to say. He spent a lot of the time bumping Justin with his knee, and playing with the hem of Justin’s shorts, and annoying him. All of them, minus Lance, snuck away to record something for Lance’s induction into the Mississippi Hall of Fame.

"Listen, tonight, I’m feeling like shit, man. I’m gonna sit it out," Justin whispered, between a break in the interviews. Chris nodded, keeping his eyes on Lance, who couldn’t seem to stop staring at him. It was a vicious cycle. "Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you took, like, five steps back, it seems, since yesterday, and that worries me, man."

"God, I’m fine. Jesus. Do you want me to tattoo it on my forehead?"

"Shit, man. I want you to talk to me, but obviously, that ain’t gonna happen."

Lance kept his eyes on Chris, gaze completely unwavering. Justin had pulled his knee away. The cool patch of sweat left behind on Chris’s skin betrayed that fact, but Chris couldn’t seem to turn his head away from the green-eyed monstrosity of Lance’s unrelenting stare.

Justin leaned into Chris’s line of vision. "We talk later, all right?"

"Whatever, you mother hen. Don’t you have a movie star to bone?"

Justin rolled his eyes.

They posed for a few more pictures, talked a little more, before going their separate ways. Chris hightailed it back to his room, suddenly desperate for a nap. Before lying down, he called Mandy to check on Layla, who was a perfect angel and had only bitten Mandy’s butt twice, which bode well for the obedience training they had started. Chris had fit it into the Wednesday thing, scheduling it before therapy on odd weeks and before the Red Rain Café on even ones.

Chris lay there for a long time, waiting. The ceiling had stains on it, faded like they’d been scrubbed at. A grisly murder, Chris thought, or an exploding bottle of lube, or maybe the room was haunted, maybe the ceiling just bled. Somewhere in Ohio, Chris had slept in a room where the walls oozed a sticky orange substance during the spring. It’d been a little weird.

That had been a rough time for him. Ohio, and everything that happened there. They’d had an apartment for a while but a station wagon for even longer, parked in the lot of an abandoned, shut down factory. Chris had been eleven, maybe twelve, though he had looked younger than Kate.

Chris didn’t know why he was thinking about that then, when he hadn’t for years. No reason to dwell on the past. It couldn’t be changed, so why bother? Dr. McDougall had different opinions on that, but what did she really know anyway? Chris had always been the exception to the rule. Most people wouldn’t have been able to get out of the life he’d led. He’d read the reports, watched the documentaries. Chris wasn’t a statistic, at least not in that way.

Chris closed his eyes. He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep.

~~~

The Crobar party lasted forever, and Chris drank so much Hpnotiq that his brain started buzzing behind his eyes. He spent an hour in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat, staring at the holes in his jeans. He’d paid five thousand dollars, and they’d come ripped to perfection. What a world, Chris thought, where you could pay five grand for rags and be happy about it.

Chris talked to a few fans, but he didn’t want them to see him like this, like he really was. That was the thing, wasn’t it? That guy they saw on stage, on television. It was all an act. The real man was a big fat disappointment, whose head was barely screwed on, who was losing it more and more by the second. Chris got one of them a drink, using it as an excuse for even more.

Chris needed to clear his head, so he left when the bodyguards weren’t looking, down on the dance floor, trying to save Joey from a mass of women wanting a piece of his celebrity. Joey was fearless like that, would jump into the middle of utter madness and come out laughing.

Outside, the air was humid, and Chris breathed it in. It cleared his head a little, though he kept on walking. It was dark, and he felt safe as safe as he could feel in Miami. He knew the places to avoid, though part of him wanted to check them out. That was the one thing he could say about growing up. He’d never felt afraid. His mom had never let them live in the slums.

Chris roamed for a few hours before getting a cab back. He went in the back way to avoid the fans, and took the stairs up, moving like he was ninety years old. Big day tomorrow, with Skills. Usually, he loved Skills, but like this whole year, it seemed like a write off already. JC wasn’t planning on participating, but Chris didn’t have the excuse of sun poisoning to use.

Lance was already in the room when he opened the door, sitting in the dark. The glow of the television reflected on his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his profile. Chris’s heart stilled in his chest for a brief moment then the bile in his stomach rose to his throat, and he barely made it to the bathroom before all that expensive booze he’d been drinking all night came up in a rush.

Lance draped a wet towel across the back of Chris’s neck then put his hand on Chris’s forehead where his hair met his skin. Chris retched again, throwing up into the porcelain bowl a second time, a third time, a fourth, until his belly felt empty, but when he moved again, more rushed out of him. He dry-heaved for even longer, and then ... nothing. A silent lull in which Lance wiped his face with the towel and pulled off his shirt, which was stained wet with vomit.

"You think you make it to the bed without dying?" Lance asked, and when Chris nodded, he hauled Chris up by the armpits and walked him out of the bathroom. When Chris lay down, the room spun, and he felt the nausea rise over him again, but Lance merely dragged his leg out at an uncomfortable angle and put Chris’s foot on the floor. He tipped the wastebasket over.

"If you have to puke again, puke in here, all right?"

Chris nodded. He would, he thought, if the storm in his belly was any indication.

"God, Chris," Lance said and smoothed a hand over Chris’s brow. The room spun in wild frantic circles, but Chris managed to focus on the vibrant green of Lance’s eyes. "You sure know how to make a man worry, don’t you? These drunken walkabouts of yours, they’re not so good."

"‘m sorry," Chris mumbled, closing his eyes. "Don’ mean to make y’ worry, man."

"I can’t seem to help myself."

Wearily, Chris pried open his eyes, and Lance was smiling, but the edges of his mouth were slightly down-turned. Chris smiled back, and Lance nodded. He got up and turned off the bathroom light then settled on the other side of the bed, leaning over Chris to turn off the lamp.

"‘night, Lance," Chris said softly.

Lance hushed him in reply, his body a warm steady weight against Chris’s back. He settled there, an arm laid gently over Chris’s hip. Breath whistled out from Lance’s mouth onto the back of his neck, and Chris closed his eyes again. The storm of nausea had seemingly passed.

~~~

"You look like shit, man," Justin said when Chris stumbled down for Skills.

"I feel like shit, Timberlake. Thanks for reminding me. Is there coffee?" Chris looked around for the lunch table, hoping it was what he’d asked for in the rider, low key and boring and middle class American. Caterers didn’t seem to understand that oysters and escargot and shit like that didn’t actually taste that great to the average person. Being rich hadn’t killed his tongue.

Justin followed him over to the lunch table, grabbing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as Chris scooped sugar into a mug then grappled clumsily for the coffee pot. Justin knocked his hands away and poured it for him, picking out a roast beef and Swiss sandwich on rye.

"Lance tells me you’ve become something of a sandwich connoisseur."

"I just like a good sandwich, is all," Chris mumbled, grabbing a second sandwich for himself, a chicken caesar on Italian bread that had likely been brought out for JC, who’d looked a little too green in the lobby when Chris had seen him briefly to even think about eating it.

Justin sat down at one of the tables. "Lance also tells me you were drunk last night."

Chris pulled up his own chair then settled in it, already unwrapping the plastic from the roast beef and Swiss sandwich. Chris took a huge gulp of his coffee, letting the warmth trickle down into his belly, then bit into the rye bread. Eating wasn’t his hottest idea ever, but collapsing dead on the sand was an even worse one. "Lance is a fucking narc," Chris said.

"Somebody has to watch out for you."

Chris swallowed so fast he felt pain in his throat almost immediately. "Jeez. I haven’t seen you for fucking months, and all you want to do is fight with me. Listen, I’ll let that comment drop, kid, but enough already, okay? It may not look like it, but I am looking out for myself."

Keeping his eyes on his peanut butter sandwich, Justin shrugged and didn’t say anything.

"Don’t be mad," Chris warned.

"Hey, man, I’m not." Justin took a vicious bite of his sandwich, sending crumbs and blobs of jelly raining to the plastic tabletop. "I’m just wanting to kick you in the fucking head."

"Well, so long as you’re not mad."

They snapped their teeth at each other a few more times before Chris’s jaw started to ache, and he bowed out of the competition. Joey came into the room with his brood of blood relatives and soon-to-be in-laws, Brianna hanging off one arm, Kelly on the other. Chris’s mom was with them, Taylor and Kate close behind. Chris could see Lance talking to his own mother.

"Lance only told because I made him," Justin said quietly. It sounded like a peace offering, and Chris accepted it with a nod. Under the table, Justin reached for Chris’s hand and squeezed it when they found each other. Sappy motherfucker, but Chris appreciated the thought.

Joey dragged up a chair, plopping Brianna down on his lap and stealing half of Justin’s sandwich for her. She immediately buried her mouth in the bread, a true Fatone. "Hey, J, ready to get your ass kicked? I feel lucky this year. Between me and Kirkpatrick here, we got brains."

Chris tapped a finger against his forehead. "I’m keeping them all safe up here."

"Bleep off, penis-head," Joey said.

Justin tried to hide the slice of his smile behind his sandwich.

"Hey, man. Me and Kel agreed it was better she learn the real words."

Chris shook his head. "That poor kid is going to need so much therapy."

"Like you’re one to talk."

Chris looked over at Joey, who had that foot-stuck-in-mouth expression on his face, then over to Justin, who was gawking at Joey like he just couldn’t believe Joey would have the balls to say that. About time one of them did, Chris thought, and started laughing, head thrown back.

"What’s so funny?" Lance asked, putting his hands on Chris’s shoulder and looking down at him. His brow was cutely wrinkled, the twist of his mouth entirely puzzled. When Chris started laughing harder, Lance matched his grin and ruffled Chris’s hair. "Fine, don’t tell me."

Chris was still chuckling when he managed to wheeze, "You tell him, Joe."

Sheepishly, Joey explained.

"Smooth, Fatone. Real smooth." Lance dragged a chair up beside Chris and took a half of his sandwich. Chris let him, mostly as an apology for puking all over the floor in the middle of the night, right next to Lance’s empty wastebasket. "Hey, did you like my present, Joey?"

"I am going to kill you," Joey said. "Worse than how Chris is gonna kill me."

Justin lifted an eyebrow. "What did you do?"

"Painted his sheets with his name and hung them off his balcony."

Chris clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Child’s play, Bass. You can do better."

Lance grinned. "Believe me, I intend to."

"So it begins," Justin said ominously.

"So it does," Lance agreed, clinking his coffee mug with Chris’s then grinning as wide as the jaws of a man-eating shark. Joey laughed out loud and shook his head, promising retaliation, and Justin started offering ideas, excited and happy despite his hollow sickly appearance. They were all right, Chris realised suddenly, and he stood back for a moment, just watching them.

When Chris was able to pull himself from that strange spell of fascination, he lifted his hand and waved JC over from where he hovered under the watchful eyes of his parents. His face was bright red with a clammy sheen clinging to his skin. When JC was close enough, Chris stood behind him and hugged him as gently as he could, brow barely touching between JC’s shoulders, arm hardly brushing his sides. Despite the obvious pain it caused him, JC let Chris hold on.

~~~

JC started swelling up like a red balloon, so he didn’t stay at Skills for more than half an hour, though his parents still had to practically drag him away. Chris did his best to get into everything, but it was so fucking hot, and he began to wish, quite bitterly, that JC had left some of his determination behind, so Chris could use that instead of his own broken will.

It didn’t help, either, that Lance was happier than Chris had ever seen him. Lance, who approached happiness with this sort of laid back detachment, like he didn’t trust it. Or he hadn’t, until now. It was like time away had done him some good. Time away from me, Chris thought morosely, and that was a terrible realisation to have touch his mind. It was true, wasn’t it?

Lance was glowing with happiness, in and out of the pool like he’d grown gills, ripping his shirt off at every opportunity. All right, you’re hot, we get it, Chris thought, now put your fucking clothes back on. Sweat continued to pour down Chris’s face. If Lance was the epitome of attractiveness, Chris would place a bet on himself as being the poster boy for fat-guy-in-heat.

"Whew," Lance said, jogging up, draining a bottle of red Gatorade. "Lord, it is hot."

Chris shrugged. What was there to say? Chris was sweating like an overweight pig.

Lance wiped his face with the hem of his shirt, flashing his perfect abs. "Having fun?"

"Oodles," Chris assured him.

Lance collapsed onto the sand beside Chris, taking another long drink of Gatorade. His throat bobbed with each swallow. "After this, I’m gonna take a shower in your room, all right? If you don’t mind, I’d rather you not tell Joey I’ve been sleeping in your room. I need a sanctuary."

Chris shrugged again. "I haven’t kicked you out yet. I’m probably not going to start now."

Lance leaned his head on Chris’s shoulder then smiled up at him, his mouth a long line of perfect white teeth. In the light, Lance’s eyes were the palest green Chris had ever seen. If Chris allowed himself to think that much, beautiful. Chris’s throat felt huge, like he couldn’t breathe at all, then a whole whack of bad feelings hit him square in the belly, and he turned his head away.

"Chris?"

Chris kept his eyes on Joey and Justin, who were laughing at each other. "Hm?"

"If I ask nicely enough, will you do something for me?"

Still refusing to look anywhere near Lance, Chris nodded. Justin had pushed Joey into the sand, and Joey was trying to bite at his ankles in retaliation. Morons, Chris thought, but found himself smiling anyway. Lance chuckled lowly, warm breath spilling onto Chris’s shoulder.

"What were you going to ask me for?" Chris asked when Lance still hadn’t said anything.

"Nothing," Lance said. "You already gave it to me. Thank you."

"Uh, okay." Chris shook his head and laughed a little. Lance could be such a weirdo when he wanted to be. "Hey, you wanna go see if we can pants Joe before the next game?"

"I love how you think, Chris."

"I just love your braaaain," Chris warbled back, laughing when Lance pinched his side.

~~~

Hell, Chris thought, was Lance Bass in his bathroom, taking a shower, naked. The ninth level of hell, if that was the truly bad one, was Lance coming out of the bathroom, with a towel wrapped around his hair and nothing else. Chris was beginning to feel frayed at the edges. Well, not beginning, but he was at the ninth level of frayed at the edges. His hands were shaking.

"Do you want to order room service? I’m feeling too lazy to go down and get something."

"I guess. Burgers all right?" Chris asked, reaching for the menu. He flipped it open to the entrees, trying not to wince at the excessive prices. Another lingering effect of his childhood. Sometimes, Chris wanted to laugh at himself, but most of the time, it was just embarrassing.

Chris ordered then waited for the food to show as Lance ironed the shirt he was planning to wear. Chris tried not to stare at him, but Lance was making it too easy. If Chris had been in a better brain place, he might’ve actually enjoyed it, instead if resenting it like he was. Chris tried to push all thoughts of Lance out of his head, like he usually did, but it wasn’t really working.

"You ever feel like you’re moving in slo-mo while everyone else is running by?"

Lance moved the iron over the sleeve, careful of wrinkles. "I’m usually the one running."

"Lucky," Chris muttered.

Chris laid down and closed his eyes, listening to the soft hisses of the iron as it released steam. Chris must have dozed off. When he opened his eyes again, Lance was sitting on the bed, looking at him. Lance obviously didn’t intend to get caught, and he offered a sheepish grin and roll off his eyes before turning his head away, to the open window and bright sky outside.

Still naked, Chris noticed, and he smelled good, too. Lance’s skin was lightly tanned and soft-looking, pulled tight over his muscles with padding in between, so he wasn’t a stick. Golden hairs covered his body, and Chris was close enough that each time he breathed, they fluttered.

When Lance turned back, it was Chris who was caught watching, and Chris had no choice but to keep his eyes in the direction where they were pointed. He’d woken up on his side, and looking away involved moving away. Chris wasn’t interested in admitting he was uncomfortable.

On the bedspread, Chris crooked his fingers. The urge to put his hand on Lance’s skin was almost overwhelming, but this wasn’t a dream, and he wasn’t going to convince himself it was. Chris didn’t know what game Lance was playing, but whatever it was Chris hated him for it.

"You’re such an asshole," Chris said. There was venom in his voice. He couldn’t hide it.

"No, I’m not."

"You are," Chris insisted, full well knowing how childish he sounded.

"You know you love me," Lance said, but he didn’t have any humour behind it. Not one ounce of fucking humour, and Chris still wouldn’t turn away. How dare he, Chris thought. That bad feeling that had been haunting him all day came back with a fury, and he was almost sick.

Chris tried to turn away then, but Lance caught his wrist and held it. "Fuck off, Bass."

Lance didn’t say anything, just pulled Chris’s hand to that dangerous valley of smooth skin between his rib cage and his hip. Chris’s fingers spread over it of their own will, and it was soft, softer than Chris could have imagined, and hotter than the fires of hell, at least.

"Don’t make me do this now," Chris whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. "Lance, don’t."

"I’m not making you do anything." Lance rolled closer, and Chris tried to wrench his arm away, but Lance was determined, and strong, and Chris was just so goddamn tired of everything, but most of all fighting. "I’m giving you the choice, the control to make your own decision."

"Don’t," Chris said again, shaking his head, a storm twisting in his belly.

"Okay."

When Chris opened his eyes, Lance was dressed and standing at the mirror fixing his hair. Dinner, long since cooled in the arctic-like temperature of the room, sat half eaten where Lance had picked at his own plate. Chris had obviously been asleep longer than he thought.

"I’m going to sleep in my own room tonight," Lance said, using his fingers to spike his hair. The line of his back was stiffly straight. Lance was, Chris thought, a better actor than most people gave him credit for. "Joey’s planning something big, and I don’t want to disappoint him."

Chris nodded. His skin was hot with shame, and he didn’t trust himself to speak.

"Sorry for that," Lance said on his way out, sliding his keycard into his back pocket.

Chris nodded again.

"You know where to find me." Lance bent down and pressed a soft kiss to Chris’s cheek.

"See you at Krave?"

"I’ll be there," Lance said. He brought two fingers to his brow and saluted, and despite it all, Chris found his lips quirked with a smile. Dork, he thought, and watched as Lance opened the door, stepped out into the hallway and disappeared as the door slammed shut behind him.

~~~

At Krave, Chris drank too much again. He mingled, and he shook hands, and he avoided Lance. Joey cornered him in the VIP bathroom at one point, demanding to know if he and Lance had a fight, if that’s why they were acting like such boneheads around each other, but Chris denied it, denied everything, the whole fucking world, his miserable fucked up life, all of it.

Justin hadn’t made it, too sick to get out of bed and needing the rest if he was gonna show tomorrow. JC was around, but he looked awful, and felt awful, and Chris couldn’t bear to look at him without feeling more shitty about himself. JC was a mass of blisters and nausea, and he was still smiling, still chatting people up, still hitting on the hottest girls in hopes of getting laid.

And Lance. Lance kept smiling, and schmoozing, and ordering rounds of drinks. There had been a time when Lance had been the unapproachable one, aloof and detached in his shyness. Now Chris was the same thing in his misery, and he’d fucked up royally with Lance. He’d turned Lance away, and denied that he felt anything at all, and screwed up big time again, always again.

Time blurred, and Chris spiralled more and more out of control. In the washroom, he’d even dialled his therapist, but she hadn’t picked up. He stayed in there a long time, freaking out. It almost felt like a panic attack, but he didn’t get those anymore, hadn’t since before No Strings.

Without telling anyone he was leaving, Chris slipped out the back and caught a cab. It was late, so he’d put in the face time he’d needed at Krave, but it was still early enough that the party wasn’t going to die down for hours. They wouldn’t miss him. They wouldn’t even notice he was gone.

Instead of going back to his own hotel, though, Chris went to Justin’s. Blindly, he stumbled up the back stairs, past the security guards who were guarding the celebrity entrance, and knocked on Justin’s door frantically until it opened, and Justin appeared, a crease on his cheek from the pillow he’d obviously been sleeping on. Chris nearly turned around and left.

"Hey, come in," Justin said, opening the door and pulling Chris inside by the hand. Chris stumbled, his foot catching on some invisible obstacle, so Justin led him to the bed, sitting him down and leaving for a second, only to come back with a glass of water. Chris drank it all down.

They sat for a while, not saying anything to each other. Justin was good like that when he wasn’t nagging, and Chris didn’t know what to say anyway. His thoughts were all a jumble, and he felt sick, though Chris doubted it was from the booze. Justin took his hand, steadying him.

"Talk to me, Chris."

"I can’t."

"Yes, you can."

Chris pressed his eyes shut, shaking his head. The world tilted sideways, quick like sand.

Justin didn’t push it, though, just pulled Chris in close for a hug, using his size advantage to curl around Chris’s body and keep him still. It helped a little with the nausea, too. Bitterly, Chris regretted that he’d had so much drink. Two hundred and fifty miles away, there was a whiteboard that said "no more binge drinking," and its Rules for Happy Living blatantly ignored.

"You can tell me anything," Justin whispered, warm in Chris’s ear. He kept his arms wrapped around Chris’s neck, holding him intimately close. Chris could see nothing but the shadows on Justin’s pale skin. "You know I’d still love you afterwards, that I’d do anything for you to make it better. Right now, Chris, I’m so scared for you. I don’t know how to help you."

"I don’t either," Chris admitted, closing his eyes and pressing them to Justin’s upper arm. "I keep trying, but nothing works. I just feel," Chris curled his fingers into Justin’s skin, "I just feel so sad all the time. Sometimes, I can’t breathe, I feel it so deeply, and it’s just too much."

"I know," Justin said, "I know."

"I’m just so tired. I don’t know how to fight this. I don’t know what to do."

"I know," Justin said again.

"I hate myself so much, J." Chris clung to Justin’s arm, opening his mouth against the soft inner skin that brushed his dry lips. "I wake up, and sometimes, I don’t want to, and I think that, and I feel so much worse. Nothing fixes this, J. Nothing works. I’ve tried everything. You know I tried drugs, but they made me feel so awful, and I couldn’t deal with it. I do everything I can, and nothing helps at all. I even have a therapist, you know, but it’s so hard to tell her anything."

Justin brushed a kiss over Chris’s temple, keeping his mouth pressed there. "I know."

"I want to feel better. I barely remember what it feels like, but I want it back. I know I was happy once. I must have been." Chris pulled his face away from Justin’s arms, terrified to look up but doing it anyway. "You’ve seen me happy, right? I’ve been happy before, right?"

"You have." Justin touched his fingers to Chris’s face. "I’ll remember it for you, okay?"

"I just feel so sad," Chris said again, and he wished he was sober, that his head wasn’t spinning out of control on his neck. It was like a top, going round and round, blurring colours together. "And I can’t breathe. I can’t. I can hardly live, and I think I’m having a panic attack, J. Oh god."

"Deep breaths, okay? Come on. Put your feet on the floor, and listen to me breathe."

Chris hadn’t even realised he’d folded himself up, didn’t know how he’d gotten so small against Justin’s side, but he unfolded slowly, feeling the ground come up to meet him. Blood roared through his ears, adding to the storm of his own panicked breath, but above it all, he could hear Justin, the calming murmur of his words, and he could feel him, too, the steady rise and fall of his chest. In time, it passed, whooshing out of him with one last laboured exhalation.

"There. You’re fine," Justin said, smoothing his palm over Chris’s face, over his hair.

"I’m gonna puke," Chris said feebly, and Justin pulled him to his feet, nearly carrying him to the bathroom, where everything he had to drink came rushing up. He missed the first time, drenching his shirt, but the second and third and fourth time, his aim was perfect. Justin sat behind him, rubbing his back and singing softly to him, and Chris couldn’t stand having all that love.

"Okay," Justin said when Chris started to cry, curling around him again, rocking them together on the cold ceramic floor of the bathroom. Chris sobbed into Justin’s shoulder, gasping so hard that his chest hurt, but he couldn’t stop the rush of tears. He tried for a few seconds, but the sadness was overwhelming, and there was an ocean of pain that was rolling out of him.

"It’s okay, it’s okay," Justin kept saying, but it was faint in Chris’s ears, and he didn’t feel okay. Chris didn’t think he’d ever feel okay again. These last few months, they were all he could remember. The feeling that someone had a hand over his mouth and nose, suffocating him slowly, and he couldn’t even be half-assed to care. "It’s okay," Justin assured him, but it wasn’t.

Thinking that, Chris just cried harder. It was like years of sadness were welling up in him, spilling over like a flood. He clung to Justin, feeling as small as nothing, and became aware, only gradually, that Justin was crying, too, the same sort of heaving sobs that Chris choked out.

"Why are you crying?" Chris asked, gasping the words. His fingers were dug deep into Justin’s shoulders, and there would be bruises in the morning. Justin was delicate like that.

"I don’t know," Justin said, holding onto Chris just as tightly, "because you are."

Chris knew he was hysterical, could feel the madness pumping through his veins, but that sobered him a little, even if the tears kept rolling down his face. He couldn’t feel them, though. It was like instinct now, doing it because he needed it to survive and not because he wanted to cry.

It was quiet then. Peaceful, almost, save for the thumping of Chris’s heart in his chest. Justin stilled after a while, barely breathing at all, and not letting Chris go even when he started squirming. A prickle of hot embarrassment was already beginning to crawl over his skin, but Chris was too exhausted to care. As if Justin sensed that somehow, he brought Chris to the bed.

Chris laid down, lifting his arms when Justin pulled at his shirt, raising his hips when Justin tugged at his jeans. Justin came with two glasses of water and some Tylenol, and Chris swallowed it all down into the wasteland of his belly. Fatigue covered his skin like a blanket. Chris was barely awake when Justin came back to the bed and crawled under the covers.

"I love you," Justin said and looped a heavy arm across Chris’s waist, spooning him.

"Love you too," Chris murmured, already mostly asleep.

~~~

Chris woke up much better than he’d gone to bed, though the weight of shame was heavy in his stomach. He would have snuck out, but Justin was already up, watching television and shovelling cereal into his mouth. Chris went into the bathroom to take a leak then sat on the end of the bed beside Justin, plucking a slice of toast from the room service cart.

"Where’s your hot movie star girlfriend?"

Justin swallowed the mouthful of Captain Crunch he was chewing then shrugged. "In her own room, I guess. Very few people want to share my bed when I’m full of snot and disease."

Chris peeled the crust off his toast and nodded. He’d appreciated it, sharing Justin’s bed last night, but he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like a sentimental moron. Except for the rock of embarrassment in his belly, Chris felt light in every other part of his body, like he could finally breathe. His face felt better, though his eyes were a little raw and dry. He was okay.

"What’s your therapist’s name?"

"Dr. McDougall," Chris replied, flattening his toast and rolling it up into a tube. So Justin wanted to talk about it, did he? "She’s all right. A little crazy herself, I think, but that’s fine. I’ve stuck with her the longest of any I’ve tried, even if, you know, I don’t say much."

"You don’t say much to anybody, Chris, friend or foe."

"Yeah, well. Sorry about that, I guess, for last night ..."

"You know that’s not what I meant," Justin said, poking Chris in the knee.

"I just don’t wanna bring you down with my shit, you know? J, man, you’re a corpse."

"That’s only my body, man. Inside, in here?" Justin tapped his index finger on his temple, levelling his gaze in Chris’s direction, and Chris tried not to squirm under the intent look of Justin’s eyes. "I’m strong enough to carry us both, if I need to, if you’d let me do that for you."

Chris made a face then shrugged. Whatever, really. Even if Justin wanted to do that, he couldn’t. Things just didn’t work like that. Maybe Justin was too young to know that, but that was just the way shit happened in life. Chris had to carry himself, or risk falling along the way.

"I know," Justin said, sighing. The stink of defeat was already oozing from his skin, and Chris felt himself relaxing a little. "You’re a stubborn fool, you know that? I love you, man, but that’s the god honest truth." Justin picked up a slice of cantaloupe and bit into it, juice dripping down his chin, which Justin dried with the sleeve of his bathrobe. "So, how’s Lance?"

"I don’t fucking care."

"He have anything to do with last night?"

"No," Chris said, but he was obviously lying, and Justin knew he was obviously lying. I should have gone to C, Chris thought bitterly. JC wasn’t great with extreme emotion. They both could have played it off like it’d never happened at all. "I don’t know what game he’s playing."

Justin frowned. "You," he said then stopped, shaking his head. "Listen, Chris. I’ve gone along with you for years about this, but I’m gonna say it, all right? I’m going to acknowledge the fact you’re so fucking in love with Lance that you don’t even know what to do about it."

Chris raised his hand in warning, but Justin just grabbed it and held on.

"You love him. I know you do, and you know you do, and you know Lance loves you, too. I mean, don’t you? It’s obvious to you, isn’t it?" Justin pinched his lips together, drawing them into a straight line, and searched Chris’s face for the truth. Chris tried to keep still, to stop himself from betraying anything, but how did you lie to a guy who knew everything about you?

"I don’t want to talk about this," Chris said.

"Chris, I’m sorry, but the time for not talking? It’s long gone. So fess up. You know."

"No," Chris said, shaking his head. What a fucking awful morning. What a fucking awful life. "Listen, even if I did, even if he does, it’s not possible. I can’t be the man that Lance needs. He needs someone who isn’t me, who won’t bring him down, won’t drag him down, you know?"

"When did you start thinking you were trash?"

"Maybe you just never noticed I am," Chris said. He meant it to sound snide, angry, anything, but it was quiet, full of shame and resignation. So there it is, Chris thought, and rubbed his fingers across his head, trying to force the headache away. "J, just drop it, all right? Let it go."

Justin leaned over and whispered a kiss on Chris’s cheek then stood up and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the door open an inch. The shower started up. Chris picked at the food left on the table, forcing himself to eat as much as he could. Fucking Justin. Fucking Lance.

Chris sniffed at his clothes. Ew to the tee-shirt, which smelled like puke. And for good reason, Chris thought. He stole one of Justin’s shirts instead. He thought about leaving before Justin got out of the shower, but he’d pissed Justin off enough for a lifetime in the last forty-eight hours, and he wasn’t willing to play chicken with Justin’s friendship. Chris turned on the tv.

Justin looked surprised when he came out of the bathroom and Chris was still there. Chris got some sort of strange satisfaction from that, and he smiled as a peace offering. Justin smiled back, his lips twisted with fond irritation. Chris knew the look well. He stood up and made vague gestures to the door.

"I’m gonna get going."

"Are you all right?"

"No," Chris admitted, "but better, I think, than I was. Maybe I needed last night."

"Oh, you think?" Justin rolled his eyes then stepped towards Chris, arms out. Chris consented to the hug, even though Justin squeezed too tight and was kinda gross with disease. "One last thing, all right? Then I’ll drop it and let you work at your own pace, but if you really mean it about Lance, that you really believe being with him isn’t what you want, tell him, okay? It’s not fair to string him along like this. He really believes in you guys. You owe him the truth."

"I’ll tell him Monday," Chris promised, trying to sound chipper even though the idea itself was akin to death by vicious bear attack in Chris’s mind. Why couldn’t Lance just get it? "No need to ruin the weekend for him any more than I already have, right? I owe him that, too."

Justin gave Chris one last squeeze then let go. "You haven’t ruined anything, dork."

"Thanks, J," Chris said, and Justin knew what he meant. Chris could tell these things.

~~~

Maybe it was the lack of stifling heat, but the basketball game was actually pretty fun. Lance came in late, which he explained away with "my asshole best friend barricaded me in my fucking room," then levelled a look at Joey that could have knocked down a building, but the sweet smell of a truce was in the air. Chris caught them shaking hands at the refreshment table.

Chris was acting like a bit of a jerk, he could admit that, but it was in his genetic makeup. After months of apathy, the vicious need to win was suddenly overwhelming. Chris was shooting his mouth off, and talking shit, and being a general nuisance. His punishment for this vice came in the form of Justin, who grabbed the back of his shorts and yanked, sending him to his knees.

"You fuck," Chris said, just loud enough for Justin to hear it above the roar of the crowd. Justin laughed in his ear and pulled again. Something was ripping, Chris knew that much, and he set to trying for freedom, but someone grabbed him by the head and kept him down. Peripherally, Chris could see Joey dancing around gleefully, ready to insert himself into the fray.

No fucking way, Chris thought, and dropped down, rolling away from his attackers. It was a free-for-all after that, pants the main goal, but Chris settled for twisting a couple of people in their shirts. Chris discovered he still had the ability to flip a grown man onto his back.

After, Chris limped to the sidelines for something to drink. He was pretty sure one of his nuts had made its way into his throat, and he needed to wash it down. Lance held out a bottle of water, and Chris gulped it down, taking the towel Lance offered and mopping his brow. Chris could feel Justin’s eyes on him from across the court. Oh yeah, Chris thought, and felt guilty.

"So Joey and I have come to something of an understanding," Lance said casually.

"Make love, not war," Chris replied.

"Right." Lance smirked and leaned closer to Chris, like he had a secret to tell. Chris offered his ear for Lance to whisper in. "Of course, he hasn’t seen his door yet. So if he asks? I did that before the treaty. As you are my witness, I swear it’s the truth. You’ll vouch for me, won’t you?"

"Joe does owe me for that crack about my mental health, however true it was."

Lance batted his eyelashes, thickly laying on the accent. "You’d do that for lil’ ol’ me?"

"I got your back, Bass." Chris patted Lance’s hair. "Don’t you worry your pretty head."

Lance laughed, rolled his eyes then strode away, a bounce in his step that Chris wasn’t fool enough to miss. A cock-tease, Chris thought, and a mind-fuck. Across the court, Justin was still glaring, but what was Chris supposed to do? Monday, Chris had promised. Until then, it was all systems go, proceed as normal, and don’t fuck everything up until you absolutely have to.

~~~

Monday came a hell of a lot sooner than Chris wanted it to come. Justin had to leave pretty early, and they all met in his room to say goodbye. Chris was pretty bummed about that. They’d fought tooth and nail all weekend long, and Chris had topped it off by having a minor breakdown in Justin’s arms, but it felt like they’d hardly spent any time together at all.

"Jeez, grow up," Chris muttered to himself on the way over to Justin’s room. He was in a pissy mood, too. Lance hadn’t forced his way in Chris’s bed for a second night in a row, and Chris was sleeping worse than he wanted to admit. Justin kicked and squirmed in his sleep. Lance had this way of lying perfectly still for hours, with his eyes partially open. It was freaky.

"You take care of yourself, kid, and eat something, all right?" Chris murmured in Justin’s ear, squeezing the daylights out of him. Chris had been the last to go. JC had attached himself first, then Lance, who’d tried only to shake hands before Justin grabbed him, then Joey, who gave Justin a wedgie. "And thanks again for, you know, for that night. I appreciate it, man."

"When are you gonna get it through your head you don’t need to be thanking me?"

Chris held his tongue from the array of self-deprecating witticisms it had at its disposal and squeezed Justin again, but when he tried to step away, Justin didn’t let go. Chris squirmed a little, but then JC was around him from the other side, and Lance and Joey, their arms circling his waist from opposite directions. Caught there, Chris couldn’t move at all. He closed his eyes.

"Guys," Chris said, and his voice was embarrassingly soft and wet. They didn’t say anything in response. The pressure around his shoulders and his waist increased, though. It was almost like a jail, except Chris had never felt safer, had never felt stronger, in his whole life.

~~~

Lance showed up on Monday night with bags of Taco Bell and a movie under his armpit, despite the fact it was a big party night. JC was celebrating feeling alive again, the worst of his sun stroke gone, and Joey never gave up the chance to party with JC, but Chris had declined the invite, needing the alone time. When Chris had found out that Lance, Mr. Party Animal himself, had also turned down clubbing, Chris had just been counting the seconds until Lance appeared.

"Come in," Chris said, his stomach rumbling its agreement.

"I got the latest Star Wars film, so you can tell me again how I just don’t understand its greatness. It’s shit, by the way, but I’m willing to give you another chance to prove otherwise." Lance kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, tossing the movie in Chris’s direction. "And Justin said you probably wanted to talk to me, but I can go, if you really want to be alone."

Lance looked so fucking earnest that Chris had to say, "It’s fine, man. You can stay."

The thing about Lance that Chris liked an awful lot was that Lance had never been anybody but himself around Chris. Germany had rocked because of Lance, who was the last guy on earth Chris should have gotten along with. It was different than the thing Chris had with Justin. Him and Justin, they spoke their own language, like they were soul twins, but him and Lance, there had always been something dangerous there, hiding behind the platonic love.

"This is so cheesy," Lance said for the millionth time, his face a twist of pure distress.

"Whatever, Bass. Just shut up and lemme watch this movie in peace, all right? Shh."

Afterwards, they watched A&E. Lance had slumped against Chris, but he wasn’t asleep. When it got dark, only the glow of the television lit the room. In his head, Chris ran through the multitude of ways to tell Lance what Chris had promised he would, but all of them ended badly. It was unfair to expect Lance to read his mind, but Chris thought Lance could have at least tried.

"Lance?"

Lance lifted his head. "Hmm?"

"I had a bit of a breakdown on Saturday night," Chris said, which wasn’t what he meant to say at all, but he felt like he owed Lance something akin to the truth. "Justin was there. I mean, I went to him, and things sorta got out of control. I kinda got out of control, crying and shit. It wasn’t pretty, but I think it’d been building, you know. I don’t know why I’m telling you this."

"Don’t be ashamed of it," was all Lance said after a slight pause.

"I’m not," Chris replied quickly. "Okay, maybe I am, but I don’t, I mean. I don’t know."

"Okay," Lance said evenly.

"No. It’s not okay. It’s." Chris stopped, trying to organise his thoughts, but they were moving too fast in his head, mirroring the rapid beat of his heart. "I don’t know what it is, but it’s not okay. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. That I’m not okay, so whatever it is you want, you shouldn’t. Because me," Chris touched his hand to his chest, over his heart, "I’m just not okay."

Lance sat up, straightening his shoulders. "Depression doesn’t negate your worth, Chris."

"It makes me hard to live with," Chris replied quietly, "hard to deal with."

"Ah," Lance said, just like that. Ah, and Chris felt the hairs on his arms stand up. "Chris, tell me something, and I need it to be the truth. Imagine that you’re perfect, that nothing about you is real and nothing about you is different, and you can have anything in this room you want."

Warily, Chris narrowed his eyes then shook his head. He wasn’t playing this game.

"The truth," Lance reminded him. "What it is? Be selfish, and tell me what you want."

Chris drew his lips into a straight line then shook his head again.

Lance huffed out a completely unamused breath. "I wouldn’t want you like that, anyway."

"Can’t you just wait," Chris said, "until I’m better?"

"You’re never going to be better, Chris. You’re asking me to wait forever, and I can’t do that. I understand, okay? I know what you’re waiting for, but I’m going to tell you this once. This is never going to go away. It might hide for a while, but it’ll never be gone like you want it to be. It’ll never vanish. You’re clinically depressed, Chris, because your brain is wired like that."

"I know," Chris said.

"Do you?" Lance asked. "It seems to me like you’re waiting for the perfect time, when there’s never going to be one. This is life, Chris, and it’s fucked up sometimes. I’d rather have a man like you, depression and all, who’s fundamentally honest and loving, than some bastard like Fabian, who’s a lying, cheating scumbag with no regard for my health or my happiness."

"It’s not that I don’t want to be with you."

Lance took Chris’s hand, folding them between his palms, holding them together. "Then be with me, and we’ll deal with all the other stuff together. I can’t fix anything for you, but I can be there to help you try. I love you so much, Chris, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t."

"I don’t want to be like this," Chris said. "I want to be so much better for you, Lance."

"I want you as you are. If this is you then that’s what I want, okay? So stop being dumb."

Chris choked out a wet laugh, and funny that, he was crying and hadn’t even noticed until then. He sniffed and wiped his eyes dry on his forearms. Lance handed him a tissue, and Chris blew his nose. He felt raw, and ugly, and stupid, but Lance didn’t seem to mind at all. He ran his knuckles softly over Chris’s cheek before threading his fingers through Chris’s hair.

"You gonna kiss me then?" Chris asked, trying to sound light-hearted and casual.

"I was thinking about it," Lance replied.

"Okay." Chris paused. "Any time, Bass."

"Shut up," Lance said, laughing, but he leaned forward, and Chris’s eyes went a little crossed. When Lance lifted his hands and put his thumbs over Chris’s eyelids, he closed them. It was a mistake, and it was the most selfish thing he’d ever done, but fuck it. If Lance was too stupid to realise how bad an idea this was, and Chris was too stupid to make him understand, then they were just going to have to deal with it. That was what Chris told himself as their lips met, and Lance’s fingers combed into his hair, and Chris opened himself up to Lance, in all ways.

~~~

They slept together without having sex. Chris would be ragged on for eternity, but he hadn’t really felt like it, and Lance wasn’t the type of guy to coerce an unwilling party. They kissed a little then fell asleep, and Chris slept better than he had in eons, it felt like, forever. The next morning, Chris didn’t even have to be pried from bed. He woke up entirely on his own.

"Remember when I said I was all yours after Challenge?"

Chris nodded.

"I accidentally lied." Lance was meticulously packing Chris’s belongings, folding everything carefully, stuffing all his dirty underwear into a plastic Walgreen’s bag. It was like they were married already. "I have to go to LA first for awhile, where I’m not asking you to come, then to Mississippi, where I am. If you want. You can bring Layla and everything."

Chris shrugged. "All right. It’s not like I have anything better to do with my time."

Lance lifted an eyebrow.

"Okay, because I want to, you know, be in Mississippi with you and my dog, who’s probably forgotten who I am." Chris tried to sound irritated, but he’d forgotten how wonderful it felt to hook up with someone for real. Underneath the warmth, he still felt kinda numb, but any reprieve, he would take it. Chris just didn’t let himself dwell on the sad parts. "For how long?"

Lance shrugged. "I don’t know. A couple weeks, maybe. My momma wants me around."

"Ah. I’ve managed to avoid my mom all weekend. She keeps leaving messages on my cell, calling me ‘dickhead.’ I think, as a truce, I’m going to invite her and the girls back to my place, for some family time. Better use this good mood while I have it," Chris added, nodding.

"Good plan," Lance said, laughing.

They moved over to Lance’s room, which was an absolute mess. The entire hallway looked like a war zone. Chris only assumed the door that said "Joey Fatone is a bitch" was Joey’s actual room, but it seemed like a pretty good guess. The promise that at least one of them would pay for the door the was a nice touch, Chris thought. They definitely weren’t rock stars.

The day passed far more quickly than Chris would have liked, and he found himself at the airport, flanked by bodyguards, mentally preparing himself to send Lance away. Chris hadn’t realised Lance meant that he had to leave for LA so soon, but his tickets were dated for Tuesday.

They said their goodbyes in the washroom, and this time, instead of punching Lance in the shoulder, they kissed in the stall, sweetly at first before it got a little dirty. Chris even got a semi-hard-on, and pressed up to Lance to let him feel. Lance grinned and whispered, warm and wet in Chris’s ear, "Too bad I have to leave in, like, two minutes, huh?" Lance was hard, too.

"See you later?"

Lance kissed Chris on the nose, arms draped over Chris’s shoulder. "You bet, Kirkpatrick."

"Two Wednesdays, and I’ll be there." Chris kissed Lance again, open-mouthed with a sliver of tongue, then hesitated for a moment, just looking at Lance’s face and trying to remember everything about it. Finally, he said, "Better get going, or you’ll miss your flight."

"You be good," Lance said then nodded, picking up his carry on bag. "Phone me."

"Righto."

Lance laughed then leaned in for another kiss, pressing Chris against the stall door. When he stepped back, his lips were wet and parted. Chris followed him, and they kissed again, Lance up against the wall. They parted only when Lonnie called for Lance to hurry it up. One last kiss, and Lance was rushing out of the stall. Chris watched him go then joined up with Big Mike, who rolled his eyes. Chris bumped him with his shoulder and laughed.

Like him and Mandy were any better.


	4. Mississippi

The week leading up to Chris’s Mississippi trip was filled with random phone messages from Lance, reminding him to bring shit. Lance never seemed to call when Chris had his phone on, except right before bed, when he called to say "good night" and "I miss you." Sometimes, Lance even threw in a random "I love you." Between Lance and Justin, Chris felt very loved.

Lance wanted Chris to bring his guitar, which Chris practically had to blow the dust off of, and his notebook, which Chris Fed-Exed ahead because he couldn’t bear knowing Lance was reading it in his proximity, and other random shit, like the jeans Lance forgot, and all of Chris’s Pink Floyd CDs. Chris bought a second whiteboard to keep track of all the things Lance wanted.

The Wednesday Thing came and went, and Chris got his dog back from Mandy. Layla had grown a little bit, he thought, and was still biting all the butts she could find. Never Chris’s, though. They hung around for a week, watching tv and writing songs and being trained. Well, not Chris, though Lance probably thought he needed some house-training, but Layla, who loved it.

On the second Wednesday, Chris was planning on attending therapy, catching a quick bite to eat at the Red Rain Café then heading off to Mississippi. Overeager, probably, but a quick visit from his mom and sisters hadn’t been all that exciting and too much time on his own was making Chris over-think things, again, like he always did. The him and Lance thing was very dangerous.

"Why do you say that, Chris?" Dr. McDougall asked, clipboard perched on her knee.

"Because it’s the truth? I mean, I’m not known for liking my exes very much, right, except Dani. I loved Dani, and I still do, and I most definitely do not hate her. But Lance is a guy I kinda have to like, so there’s pressure." Chris picked up her Chinese whatever-balls and started rolling them around in his palm. They were oddly calming. "He thinks my thing is no problem."

"So you talked to him about it?"

"I didn’t want to," Chris admitted, "but it kinda came out in conversation. I had a pretty rough weekend, you know. Thinking back, I think I hit rock bottom, you know, so then I’m all, well, there’s no way but up, right? I mean, that’s how it works, right? I break down. I get better."

"Don’t you think that might be a little idealistic, Chris?"

"Whatever gets me through the day," Chris replied and shrugged.

Chris called Justin from the Red Rain Café, waiting for his BLT sandwich on toasted French bread to show up. Mandy and Big Mike were laughing with each other a few tables away. Big Mike had mentioned he was going to finally propose to her, and Chris had asked to be the flower girl at the wedding. Big Mike had laughed abruptly, like he hadn’t expected the joke.

After these last few weeks, he probably hadn’t. Chris hadn’t been feeling very funny.

"Hey, man," Justin said, hundreds of miles away. "What sandwich is it this week?"

"BLT, no mayo." Chris doodled on his napkin, missing his notebook. Somewhere in Mississippi, Lance was reading his songs. Chris was mortified even thinking about it, but Chris hoped there was some rule for boyfriends that they couldn’t make fun of their crazy boyfriends’ lame attempts at song writing. "Am I interrupting you?"

"Fifteen minutes ago, yes, but right now? Nah, she just left. I’m still naked, though."

Chris made a sharp noise of disgust, twisting his face at the phone, and Justin laughed on the other end. "You shut up," Chris said, pointing a finger Justin would never see, "I don’t need to be hearing that shit from you. After a weekend of telling me nothing, I’m not gonna listen now. That would imply I’m desperate to know how hot your movie star girlfriend is in bed."

"And you’re not." Justin was still laughing.

"No way," Chris insisted, chuckling a little. Justin’s laughter had always been infectious. Chris leaned away from the table when the waiter came, setting down his plate. The sandwich looked even better than it had in the picture. "Hey, J. Remember when I said I’d talk to Lance?"

"Yes." Justin’s voice held a note of wariness, of warning. "Chris, you promised."

"I did," Chris said quickly. Not for one second more did Chris want Justin to be disappointed in him. Chris’s word was still good for something. "But Lance is a stubborn bastard, man, and more of a fool than me, but I know that, and maybe, you know, we talked, but decided on the exact opposite of what you and I talked about, about me and him. You know?"

Justin was quiet for a minute and then, "No, you completely lost me, Chris."

"I think we’re trying," Chris spoke directly into the receiver, "the boyfriends thing."

"Oh," Justin said. Just like that. Oh. Chris replayed it back in his head a thousand times before Justin spoke again. Chris couldn’t make heads or tails of the inflection in Justin’s voice. "That’s good, right? This is what you want. You decided on your own that this was best for you."

Chris frowned at his sandwich. "What are you trying to get at here, J?"

"Lance didn’t pressure you into it, did he? I love him, man, but he can talk circles around people to get what he wants. I’m just making sure this was your decision, not his." Justin paused for a moment then added, "He’s kinda stupidly in love with you, man. He’d do anything for you."

"So he tells me," Chris replied, lifting up the bread to check for mayonnaise. It was clean.

"All right. I’ll shut up. You have my blessing."

"Like I wanted it," Chris replied, but he sorta had.

They parted ways with a mutual exchange of "love you," and Chris inhaled his sandwich in six bites, washing it down with a cherry Coke then signalled for the bill when the waiter looked over. Layla stirred at his feet, lifting her head at his sudden movement, and he reached down to give her a vigorous rub. Chris left a twenty dollar tip then waved in to Big Mike and Mandy, who were enjoying the air-conditioning inside. They both gave him a thumbs up back.

Chris had one more stop to make before he left. After looking both ways, he jogged across the street and entered the pharmacy. An hour before, he’d left a crumpled prescription with Kate, the woman who worked the counter. Chris knew from all the times he’d made the late-night condom run with Joey that she was to be trusted, that she was a friend of Joey’s. "Have a good night, sir," was all she said as she slid the receipt and the prescription across the counter.

"Thank you," Chris said, shoving it deep into his pocket.

Chris had been there before. It was actually how he’d first discovered the Red Rain Café, one miserable night during the lawsuit when he’d been so lost in his head that he’d actually been afraid of himself, but he’d just been there that one time back then. Just one night, when Chris had finally marched into the pharmacy and ordered himself a prescription for Prozac. It was different now, Chris thought. The prescription in his pocket was for Paxil instead, but funny how it felt like nothing had changed. Funny how, when Chris thought about it, it was all exactly the same.

~~~

It took Chris twelve hours exactly to drive from Orlando to Clinton, plus the four hour nap he took on the side of the road and the spurts of minutes Layla demanded for bathroom breaks, so he rolled into Lance’s driveway, after screwing up the code for the gate three times, at eleven in the morning. He parked beside Lance’s silver BMW, resisting the urge to key it.

"I wasn’t expecting you until late," Lance said when he opened the door.

Chris turned around from where he was trying to fish Layla out of Lance’s shrubbery, her leash drawn taut as he pulled. She loved peeing on things, Chris noticed, more so than any dog he’d ever met, and she especially loved peeing on Lance’s expensive exotic plants, it seemed.

"I left last night, after dinner. I was gonna bring you a sandwich, but then I figured it’d be rotten by the time I got here. Hi," Chris said suddenly, when he turned around to find Lance right there, smelling like minty toothpaste and his old-man aftershave. Shyly, he put his hand on Lance’s chest and smiled at him. The muscles around his mouth felt sorely underused.

"Hey," Lance said, slow and sweet like molasses. "Your dog just peed on my perennials."

"Yup," Chris agreed, chewing his lower lip between his teeth. It was a little weird suddenly. Them. Just knowing that Lance was maybe thinking dirty thoughts about him, or that Chris felt like a man out of body, abruptly pulled from his very numb life to this new shiny one.

"I set up a fence in the backyard for Jackson and Lexi. If you promise your dog won’t eat them, she’s welcome to hang out there for a while. Come on in." Lance waved his hand at them, and Chris yanked at his dog, pulling her away from the stone column she was happily sniffing. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? Tired? In desperate need of a shower? A bath? Some time alone?"

Chris slapped Lance on the shoulder. "Jeez, man. Relax. I’m fine."

"Sorry." Tucking his hands into his pockets, Lance looked a little pink around the edges, and hey, Chris thought, maybe he’s nervous, too. That helped, knowing Lance also thought things were a little weird. It’d all been so easy when they were both ignoring the elephant in the corner. "Don’t worry about your shoes. My cleaning lady’s coming this afternoon, and she needs something to do. I think my momma’s been watching this place. It’s so pristine that it’s almost scary."

"I was noticing," Chris said, smiling. His mouth felt weird. "I brought a lot of shit."

"That’s fine. I have a big house."

Outside, Jackson and Lexi started barking when Lance opened the gate. Chris unclipped Layla’s leash from her collar and waved her in. Despite being the baby of the group, she was bigger than Lexi and Jackson combined. Behind his back, Chris crossed his fingers and looked skyward, saying a quick prayer: dear god, please don’t let my dog eat Lance’s dogs, love Chris.

Lance chatted nonstop from the back to the front, all the way out to Chris’s Explorer then back again, up the spiral cherry-wood stairs and into Lance’s luxurious bedroom. The bed was a four-poster, mahogany monster with mountains of pillows and blankets. Chris tried to recall if he’d ever seen this particular bedroom before, but he thought he would’ve remembered that.

"Wow, that’s some bed," Chris said.

"It was my sweet sixteen present from my parents. I picked it out special for that very occasion. It took me months to decide on the one I wanted, and we had it made from scratch by this crazy old guy," Lance replied, already laughing. "Yes, I was this gay from a very young age."

"I need a ladder to get on it. Jeez," Chris murmured. Chris wasn’t kidding, either. He had to climb to get onto it, and when he swung his legs over the side, his feet didn’t touch the ground. Lance jumped up beside him, and Chris really liked how his jeans stretched over his thighs.

Lance tilted his head in Chris’s direction. "How are you?"

Chris thought about his answer for a moment then decided on a careful, "I’m all right."

"All right as in feeling better, or all right as in feeling pretty much the same?"

Chris wondered if he should’ve been irritated at Lance’s unsubtle prying, but after the debacle of Challenge for the Children, Chris didn’t blame him for asking. That weekend had been pretty bad. There was a lingering cloud of embarrassment over Chris’s head. "The latter, as in the way I felt before I descended on Miami, or, I guess, feeling better, as in last weekend."

Lance smiled and leaned in a little closer to Chris, his fingers folded over the side of the bed. He kept kicking his heels against the mattress, and each hit echoed with a thud that Chris could feel in his calves. Chris licked his lips, and Lance moved in a little more. "Good," he said.

Chris had a million witty quips he was dying to say, but he was a lot smarter than he looked, and any one of them would have killed his chances of getting macked on by one of the smoothest mackers of all. Chris was beginning to see why the world seemed to fall into Lance’s bed. They were powerless against his coy, shy smile and the gentle, wanton part of his red lips.

~~~

They made out on top of Lance’s extravagantly outrageous bed until the dogs started barking. No, scratch that: until Chris’s neurotic butt-biting dog started yipping her little head off and would not shut up, even when Chris yelled "quiet!" a couple times through the open window.

"It’s like having kids," Chris muttered, tugging his shirt back down over his belly and attempting to smooth his hair. Lance looked equally rumpled, laying back on his pillows. They were all lacy and white, the girliest pillows Chris had ever laid eyes on. Lance was such a dork.

Lance yawned and turned over onto his side. "You better go check on her, Chris."

Chris rolled his eyes, but he went anyway. Jackson and Lexi were still alive, Chris was happy to note, and Layla’s issue seemed to be that her collar had gotten caught on the latch of the gate.

"Shit," Chris said, unhooking her and removing the studded black leather collar. It looked like a really big cock ring, which was probably closer to the truth than Chris wanted to think about. It was a gift from JC, after all. "How did you manage that, you little freak?"

Layla barked at him then licked his face. Oh, yeah, Lance was gonna like that.

Chris took the stairs two at a time and bounded into the room, determined to wake Lance up if he’d managed to fall asleep, but he was awake, though still sprawled bonelessly on top of the covers. Chris stopped just inside the door and found himself blatantly staring at the smooth curve of Lance’s hip and the self-conscious curl of his toes. Okay, Chris thought, weird again.

That didn’t stop Chris from launching himself at the bed, barely clearing the edge. Lance’s room was unmistakeably Southern, but Chris didn’t know why he recognised it as such. He supposed because the whole thing seemed so very Lance to him, and Lance had always epitomised the South in Chris’s mind. It was like a different world, almost. Lance’s world.

"Hey, you," Lance drawled, putting his hand on Chris’s hip then sliding under his shirt. Chris squirmed a little closer, watching the slide of Lance’s fingers over his skin instead of Lance’s face, which Chris imagined was split in a lazy, comfortable smile. The green of his eyes, Chris knew by memory, and the unnatural arch of his eyebrows, and the harsh line of his jaw.

Sudden realisation hit Chris like a hammer in the chest. "You wanna have sex?"

Lance made a non-committal noise in his throat, deep and smooth, warm with heat.

Chris hadn’t even though about sex, really, until that point. Hadn’t in months, he realised, since that threesome with, um, uh. Amber something? And that beautiful guy with the nice smile. And Chris had been drunk for that, too, pissed out of his fucking mind, and he’d only done it to feel less lonely and awful and freakish. It hadn’t helped, either. Chris remembered that much.

Lance’s hand stilled on Chris’s hip, fingers just under the edge of his jeans. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," Chris said quickly, jumping back a little. He hadn’t realised Lance was so close. Chris forced himself to look up. Lance’s eyes were on him. They were open and bright, topped by the delicate arc of his left eyebrow. "I don’t know. I was just thinking I haven’t even thought about sex in months. I haven’t jerked off at all in, shit, longer than I can remember."

"Must be some sort of record for you," Lance said idly. He threaded his fingers into Chris’s hair and started combing through it. Chris looked up briefly, straining his eyes, then returned his gaze to Lance’s face. Lance sighed softly. "I’m not sure what you need me to say."

"You don’t need to say anything. I’m just offering my hot bod for you purposes. You know, keeping the channels of possibility open." Chris narrowed his eyes at Lance, trying to figure out what Lance was implying. Something important, Chris figured. Lance already looked chastised, like he’d been thinking something awful. Like ... oh. "God, the goods still work, man!"

Lance exhaled sharply. "Yeah?"

"Yes! I just haven’t used them much." Chris made a face. "Jeez, you honestly thought ..."

"I didn’t know what to think! You leave me to figure all this stuff out on my own."

Of course, Lance would read everything he could get his hands on, the dork. Chris rolled his eyes, but it was a little sweet anyway. Still, Chris didn’t much feel like having sex right at that very moment, which was a travesty in its own right, and Lance seemed to get that. Suddenly, Chris was almost unbearably tired, and he yawned right in Lance’s face. Lance inched closer.

"Go to sleep," Lance murmured warmly in Chris’s ear, offering his shoulder for Chris to lay his forehead against and close his eyes. Lance’s hand swooped up and down his back, lingering at the nape of his neck to play with the wisps of hair there. Chris exhaled.

~~~

The thing about Mississippi in August, Chris decided, was that no sane man would want to live there. It was hot and muggy, and the sudden violent thunderstorms left everything continually wet. The dogs smelled terrible, and Lance kept scrubbing them down with his fancy dog-shampoo, but it never seemed to help. Layla wasn’t quite as stinky as Jackson and Lexi. Yet.

It wasn’t so bad, though. Chris spent his mornings on the phone with Jane and Warren, both of whom were helping him set up Roundtable Records and, well, running it, too. Chris still didn’t know shit about the business side of things, working on the money side instead. FuMan would forever prove his point on that. Afternoons, Chris spent lazing around Lance’s immaculate house, or reading all the books he’d promised his eleventh grade English teacher he’d read, or making out with Lance under the protection of mosquito-netting by Lance’s sprawling man-made lake. Lance had built a Romanesque getaway out there, all marble stone and Corinthian columns.

They spent a lot of time out there despite the stifling, uncomfortable heat. Chris liked that Lance always took his shirt off, saying things like "Lord, it is hot" or "Whew, makes a man want to spend his whole life naked." It was secluded enough that Lance could have been naked 24/7.

There were things Chris didn’t like so much. Sometimes he felt antsy and caged in for no reason. Worse, sometimes Chris felt absolutely nothing at all, just a knot of numb in the pit of his belly. Those times, he didn’t talk much, and didn’t really like Lance touching him, but they were only moments, really, in the grand scheme of things. There was also the matter of the pills.

Chris still hadn’t taken them. Every morning, he thought about it then decided against them. Every night, he thought about it then decided for them. It was all very confusing. On one hand, Dr. McDougall and Chris’s physician, Dr. Edwards, had both agreed the drug would probably help a lot. On the other hand, Chris had been down that road before, and it hadn’t been pretty.

Other than that, though, things were great. Chris was in love, or as much as he could be, considering the circumstances. Chris knew he was in love more than he felt it. Emotion had always been something Chris could feel in his bones, but his bones were wrapped in cotton, it felt like, and the love was being buried by all his shit. Still, Chris knew it on some deep, real level.

~~~

"Did you mean it, about me using your," Lance’s index and middle fingers quirked, "‘hot bod’ for my purposes?" They were sitting outside by the man-made lake, listening to Pink Floyd and relaxing after a busy afternoon. Chris had spent the last few hours trying to help Lance learn to play the guitar, and it was still out, leaning up against one of the Corinthian columns.

"Well, I’d like to be conscious for it, but that’s my only request. Hit me with your best shot," Chris said, trying to sound a lot more flippant than he felt. The truth was, it’d been a damn long time since Chris had slept with anybody sober. Longer since he’d slept with someone he had a vested emotional interest in, and Chris’s vested emotional interest in Lance was almost scary in its depth.

Lance took Chris by the hand and pulled him over to the divan, which Chris had never understood the purpose of before. It was always covered in a damp mist, and it was so out-of-place in the wilds of Lance’s backyard. Tacky, almost, except it matched every part of Lance’s decor. But now, Chris kinda got it, except he didn’t like thinking about who else had been on it.

"Do you trust me?"

"I guess so," Chris muttered. Lance chuckled lowly in his ear and Chris said, "yes."

Chris held his breath as Lance settled behind him, putting his hands under the sweat-drenched fabric of Chris’s tee-shirt. Chris felt almost unbearably fat, knowing Lance could feel every uneven part of him, and Chris hadn’t had enough warning to suck in and pretend he wasn’t a blob. The eating-for-comfort thing. Chris really had to cut that shit out. There was danger in a twinkie, whether Lance wanted to admit it or not.

"Relax," Lance murmured, moving his lips against Chris’s cheek. Chris hadn’t shaved either. Had meant to, but then Lance had made blueberry pancakes for breakfast, and Chris just hadn’t remembered to go upstairs later, after Lance had kissed the maple syrup from his lips.

"Relax," Lance said again, and Chris closed his eyes. The heat poured into his lungs, heavy with moisture, and the sounds of Pink Floyd’s The Wall touched his ears. Okay, that he could deal with. Him and The Wall went all the way back to high school, when Chris had spent countless hours listening to it on vinyl, so much that he’d replaced it three times by the end.

When Lance urged his arms up, Chris lifted them over his head, and Lance whisked his shirt easily off, but Lance stopped him when Chris tried to drop his fists into his lap. A hand snaked around Chris’s belly, smoothing over the soft flesh there, and another walked the length of his arms. Lance’s mouth worked at the back of his neck, softly kissing over his skin, wet.

"Trust me," Lance whispered when Chris began to squirm, the ache in his arms almost unbearable. It was no better when Lance urged him down onto his belly, but Chris went. Lance worked his shorts down, and Chris hadn’t put on anything underneath, which Lance made appreciative noises over. Still, Chris felt terribly exposed. He didn’t know what Lance was doing.

And the heat. God. How could anybody live in this place? Chris could barely breathe, the air was so thick and heavy. It weighed him down likes chains. And Lance, fucking Lance. Bare-assed, fucking naked Lance, who was pushing Chris down into the damp embrace of the divan. Not so much laying on him as moving over him, their skin barely brushing each other. Like a ghost almost, if Chris believed in shit like that. He wasn’t sure he did, but it felt otherworldly.

Lance’s mouth skimmed over his skin, open and wet, leaving invisible marks everywhere. And his hands, moving hypnotically up and down Chris’s arms. Up with the pads of his fingers, down with the scrap of his blunt nails. Chris felt high, like he’d smoked too much weed, without the queasy spinning effect and the need to eat, eat, eat until he ballooned with chips and gluttony.

Hyper-sexual, almost, but a eunuch, too. Chris didn’t even know if he was hard. It didn’t matter. He was some dick-less creature who was orgasming at the base of one shoulder blade and the nape of his neck and other weird spots that had never before felt so good. Lance folded over him, held him down, and just laid there, breathing. Chris could count every beat of Lance’s heart.

Lance whispered in his ear, "You’re beautiful, you know that?"

"Yes," Chris answered simply. Mark the date on the calendars, folks, Chris thought, I actually mean it. He rolled onto his back when Lance pushed at him and looked up when Lance lightly folded his hand over Chris’s throat. Pink Floyd continued on as background noise.

Lance kissed him then, and it felt like background noise, too. Just one more pleasant thing to tug at Chris’s dulled senses and force him to feel the life pulsing through his veins. Chris had forgotten somehow what that felt like. How his lungs filled with air when he inhaled. How blood pumped from his heart to neglected parts like his cock, which was definitely there now. The far-reaching hand of depression that had been covering Chris’s mouth and nose, suffocating him slowly, had been pulled back, just a little, like Lance had grabbed it and forced it to finally give Chris some relief. Chris took a deep, harsh breath and came, just like that, like he’d been waiting.

 

~~~

"Whoa, weird," Justin said when Chris told him. Chris was out walking the dogs across Lance’s property, all three of them on leashes. It’d been raining all morning, but the sky had cleared and the sun had come out. It was still unbearably hot, and Chris was being eaten alive by mosquitoes. "But impressive, too. If I’d known Lance was that hot in the sack ..."

"You’d what, Straight Boy?" Chris crouched down to untangle Lexi and Layla, who were not only snarled in each other’s leashes, but had managed to circle one of the trees twice. "And hey, what, your hot movie star girlfriend isn’t enough for you? Save some for the rest of us, J."

Justin barked a laugh. "He’s all yours, man. And you can call her Cameron, you know."

"I could," Chris said slowly, and Justin laughed again. "But that’s good? Your thing."

"Oh, yeah. Wonderful. Did I tell you we’re going to Hawaii? We got the tickets today."

"Lucky," Chris said wistfully. "I mean, not that Mississippi isn’t a lovely place, but man, the heat and the bugs and the rain. The only redeeming quality is Lance, and he abandoned me for Vegas." From the sudden intake of breath on Justin’s end, Chris knew it came out a lot more bitter than he’d intended. "Okay. Despite what that sounded like, I am not psychotic about it."

Justin hummed thoughtfully. "Why’s he in Vegas?"

"I don’t know. Some must-make-appearances thing. Better him than me, I guess." Chris shrugged. He’d spent the last six months ducking Johnny’s phone calls and pretending he was so busy that showing up at random parties and being seen by the paparazzi was out of the question. "But I miss him a little, I guess. And I’m feeling a bit ... morose." That was a good word for it.

"Things not any better?"

"Things not any worse," Chris admitted. Which was good, in a way, and terrible in another. "And there’s this ... thing ... I should do, that I’m not, and I’m ... I don’t know." Chris walked the dogs into their pen then removed their leashes, and Layla’s collar. She continued to be a little accident prone. Kariya had been like that, actually, always getting into trouble. "You ever look at your life and think to yourself, ‘how the fuck did I let myself get to this point?’"

"Yeah, but probably for wildly different reasons. Can I ask what this thing of yours is?"

"Meds. For the depression," Chris added, like Justin would honestly have no idea what he was talking about. Chris walked into the house and kicked off his grass-covered sandals on his way to the fridge for something cold to drink. Lance had an army of juice containers. "I don’t know."

Justin was quiet for a minute then, "Do you want to take them, Chris?"

"I don’t know," Chris said again.

"I mean, should you take them? Before, you ..." Justin trailed off.

"I know." He had Justin trained too well with the whole secret-keeping thing. "Probably, I should try again. If not for my sake, for everyone else. It seems a little senseless, you know, that I’m walking around like I am when there’s something in this world that could potentially fix it. Or at least help, or make things worse." Chris sighed and collapsed on the couch, sinking into the plush cushions and leaning his head against the armrest. "I don’t know. Make me do something."

Justin huffed into the phone. It sounded a little sad, Chris thought. "You know I can’t."

"I know," Chris muttered, rubbing a fist over his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping very well the last few nights. Chris didn’t even want to think Lance had that much influence over his life. "Listen, I’m gonna go get something to eat for dinner. I’ll talk to you later, all right? Be good."

"Don’t think I don’t recognise your obvious evasion technique, but okay. Love you."

"Love you, too," Chris said idly, and hung up before Justin could get another word in.

~~~

By the time Lance came back, Chris was feeling thoroughly crazy. Four days, and Chris had turned into some sort of reclusive hermit who spent his days sitting by the window, counting cars and waiting for someone, anyone, to come to the door for a little human contact. At least Chris had a sense of humour about it. Sorta. In a very dark, very morbid type of way. Maybe?

"Are you interested in eating out tonight?"

Chris shrugged. "I guess."

Lance stuck his head out of the closet where he was putting away all the clothes he’d had dry-cleaned in Vegas, meticulously re-folding everything. "Do you mean that, Chris? If you’re not up for it, we can just stay in. I have a package of Ramen noodles with your name on it."

Chris rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling. The immensity of Lance’s dorkiness was infinitely endearing, and it was balanced so well with his supreme hotness. That was talent. "I mean it. I’ve been eating Ramen for the past four days. I love it, but every man has his limits."

Chris changed his jeans from the ones with the hole in the butt to the ones his mom had bought for him and pulled on one of his more respectable tee-shirts. He went into the bathroom to shave, occasionally moving around to let Lance get at his hair wax, then his dental floss, then his toothbrush, then a little pair of silver scissors to snip at his nose hair. Lance was a big freak.

Chris brought the dogs inside and ushered them into Lance’s mud room with an abundance of toys and treats. Then he waited. Chris could hear Lance stomping around upstairs. The thing about Lance was that he took forever and a day to get ready. Chris sat impatiently on the stairs, staring at his watch. Eventually, Lance came running down with, "I know, I know."

"My sisters get ready faster than you, man," Chris said, climbing into the car. "I lost ten pounds waiting for you, wasting away into starvation, convinced I’d been abandoned ..."

"Hush," Lance said, making the universal shut-your-mouth motion with his hand, but the twist of his lips betrayed his amusement. Chris lifted up his own hand and started making gabby, blah-blah-blah motions. "You know, you’re pretty brave to be mocking the guy you sleep with."

"Nah, I’ve been mocking the guy I sleep with for years." Chris waved at Lance to lean in, and trusting guy that Lance was, he did. It was comforting to know some things never changed. Out of the corner of his mouth, Chris whispered, "Between you and me, I think he gets off on it."

"Bastard," Lance said fondly, giving Chris a quick kiss on the lips before starting the car.

Chris fucked around with the radio for a while then spent the rest of the drive staring out the window. He put his hand on Lance’s thigh and kept it there. Just a couple of gay-ish guys, driving along in Mississippi, going out to eat. Well, Lance was full-on gay. Chris was just sorta.

Lance led the way into the restaurant, which looked sorely out of place. It was a trendy little thing, with thousands of crystalline mood-lights sparkling like stars in the plants and mismatched chairs at every glass-covered, wire-sculpted table. Chris didn’t catch the name of it.

"They serve great sandwiches here." At Chris’s slight nod, Lance added, "It’s Wednesday."

"Oookay," Chris said slowly.

"The Wednesday thing. Fancy sandwiches on Wednesday, in a quaint café named after a Peter Gabriel song. Is any of this ringing a bell?" Lance’s brow was all wrinkled, and he was waving his hands around desperately. Chris took pity on him and tapped Lance against the shin with his foot. "You have spent the last few months revolving around Wednesdays, right?"

"Ah," Chris said. "You’re looking for deeper meaning. I’m sorry, Bass, there is none."

Lance looked bleak. "None?"

"Not really, no." Chris shrugged. "My therapist and I agreed I needed to get out of the house more, so we decided that every Wednesday, at the very least, I would go out to eat for dinner. I could have done it anywhere, I guess, but I really liked the sandwiches, and my pharmacy is across the street. Which is another thing entirely and maybe has deeper meaning."

"If I had suggested eating someplace else ..."

"I would’ve gone, man, but I thought you liked the sandwiches. You said you did."

"I thought it was a thing you had to do, like you would die without it."

Chris lifted an eyebrow. "I have mastered the art of making sandwiches at home, Bass."

Lance had his head down on the table and was banging it softy against the glass. He was taking it a lot harder than Chris would have guessed. He’d honestly had no idea that Lance was so attached to the Red Rain Café. It was a great place, but it didn’t warrant the levels of devastation Lance was currently displaying. Not sure what else to do, Chris patted Lance’s hand.

"I should have brought you that sandwich in a cooler. I’m sorry, man. I wasn’t thinking."

Lance’s shoulders started shaking, and Chris pulled back, thinking he was crying, but the unmistakable peals of Lance’s deep laughter rolled out of Lance’s mouth. "Oh, lord. I am such a moron. Look." Lance shoved a menu over in Chris’s direction that listed the sandwich specials for the Mercy Street Café. That was a strange coincidence. Weird. "This place is mine, Chris!"

"I didn’t know you owned a restaurant in ... oh. Oh, shit. You bought this for me?"

Tears streaking down his cheeks, Lance nodded. His ears were bright pink.

"I’m touched, man. Seriously, that’s about the sweetest thing anybody’s ever done for me, and this is the sorta shit I’m gonna tell our great-grand-kids when we’re ninety, but I gotta ask." Chris leaned across the table. "Just what sort of neurotic freak do you think I am, Bass?"

Lance looked at Chris like he was crazy. "Good god, Chris. Do you even have to ask?"

Abruptly, Chris started laughing, too. Maybe Lance did have a point after all.

~~~

The thing about Lance was that he was pretty unflappable, but once he was flapped, it took him forever to get over it. It probably didn’t help that whenever Chris looked at him, Chris grinned. Lance had opened up a restaurant just so Chris would feel at home in Mississippi, and that was so beyond cool. The sandwiches were fantastic, and there were a zillion soda flavours.

Lance was quiet for the rest of dinner, and Chris couldn’t stop smiling. He was getting a little tired of this emotional yo-yo he was tied to, but Chris was breathing a little easier, so he wasn’t going to knock it. At least whenever Lance caught Chris’s wide grin, he smiled back.

"You wanna walk around?" Chris asked when they arrived back at Lance’s house. Dusk had just passed into dark, and Chris loved taking walks at night. He was actually looking forward to returning to Orlando just so he and Layla could make nightly walks to the 7-Eleven.

"Sure," Lance said quietly, "just let me find the bug spray."

After they were nice and smelly with the scent of Deepwoods Off Skintastic Spray, they walked out into the humid night, hand in hand. Chris had grabbed Lance’s hand with his first step. Lance looked over and smiled, and Chris thought he’d do just about anything in the world to see Lance smile more often. Chris knew the reason Lance didn’t smile so much. It was him.

"When I first went to Dr. McDougall, she came up with a game plan. She called it that. A game plan, like I was a football game or something. The Wednesday thing was one of them. Get me out of the house, even if I didn’t want to be. Big Mike was in cahoots with her, to make sure I did."

Chris swung their hands, back and forth like a pendulum. It was oddly comforting. Inside, Chris’s heart was erratically beating, but something in him knew this was the way to make Lance stop being weird. There were worse crimes in the world than buying your boyfriend a café.

"The whiteboard, too. Rules for Happy Living. By writing down all my destructive behaviours, I could recognise them and stop doing that shit to myself. Her words, by the way, not mine." Chris held Lance’s hand just a little bit tighter. "And the notebook, too. I refused to write a journal on, like, the principle of the thing. So I wrote songs instead. Which you’ve seen."

And stolen, Chris wanted to add. For the first few days, Chris had expected to find it in some obvious place. That Lance would give it back without Chris having to ask for it, but it hadn’t happened, and Chris had been too chickenshit to ask for it. The songs weren’t very good.

"Did any of that help?"

Chris snorted. "No, not really. Well, a little, I guess, but it’s like ... it’s too little too late, you know? I can understand the preventative qualities of all this stuff. There’s, like, this period, you know, before you’re stuck down in your personal hell where you can almost feel it’s about to happen. At least for me. It’s like you’re in the middle of this steep hill, and you can go up or you can go down. And it’s so much easier, man, just to let go and slide on down to the bottom."

Lance bowed his head, but he kept his eyes on Chris, and that made Chris uncomfortable. "How hard it is to get back out again?" Lance asked softly.

"That’s the thing, isn’t it? It feels impossible." Chris lifted Lance’s hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against the warm skin below his knuckles. Chris closed his eyes, tipping his head when Lance threaded the fingers of his other hand into Chris’s hair. "It’s like someone covered this hill with ice as a joke, and you’re down there, and everyone else is up at the top."

Chris stepped a little closer to Lance, walking into the vee of his arms, letting Lance fold around him but also refusing to let go of Lance’s hand or forcing Lance’s fingers from his hair. Chris was whispering now. He still had more to say, but he was afraid of the words.

"And there’s this one bastard who’s turned down the temperature to freezing, and he’s pouring water down that hill, constantly. And for a while, you’re swimming, but you get tired, you know? It’s so cold, and you’ve been treading water forever, it feels like. And there’s this point where you just. You stop. And that point, man, is the most terrifying thing in the world."

Lance’s face was wet against Chris’s neck. Crying, Chris figured. He didn’t blame him.

"Then you only have two choices," Chris continued, whispering like it was secret. "Either you give up totally and let yourself drown, because it’s easier. Or you call to someone for help, to throw down a rope, a ladder, anything. You beg for it, and you cry for it, and it rips you up."

The night was filled with a litany of bugs humming songs. Lance’s breath came in time.

"By then, you’ve been down there a while, and you’re in rough shape." Chris used his free hand to bring Lance’s brow to his so he spoke directly into Lance’s mouth. "You don’t want anybody to see you, not your family, not your friends. That’s why the only person in the world you can tell is this complete stranger you pay ninety dollars an hour to acknowledge your pain."

So there it was, Chris supposed. The truth as Chris knew it. It didn’t sound quite so ugly when it finally left his mouth, just sad. Chris didn’t want Lance’s pity, didn’t want anybody’s pity, but the one thing Chris would never do was intentionally make Lance feel like a fool.

"Death By Drowning," Lance said suddenly. "Will you sing it to me?"

Chris blinked then shook his head. Those songs weren’t meant to be sung. Ever.

"Sing it to me," Lance said again. He looked so fucking earnest that Chris found himself nodding despite every bone in his body shouting no! never! Chris let Lance pull him across the lawn to the mini Romanesque villa. Chris knew he should have brought that damn guitar inside.

~~~

Chris sang until sunrise. His voice started off raw and rough, having been all but ignored for months, but Lance helped him warm up, the two of them bumbling through Patsy Cline tunes. Once his fingers touched the strings, once the first notes rose from his throat, Chris remembered how much he loved it. Singing. It was the one thing that he always loved, depressed or not.

It was just sometimes, well. Sometimes Chris wasn’t sure he deserved having it.

Lance offered to get Chris’s notebook from the house, where he’d hidden it in the clean laundry Chris never would have thought to fold and put away. There was a boyfriend-lesson in there, somewhere. But Chris declined. He didn’t need it. He knew every single song by heart.

He sang Death By Drowning and Live Another Day and The Pain Song. That one was hard to get through. Chris wasn’t sure he’d be able to without the shame clamming up his mouth. There were things that Lance hadn’t known that he knew now, things like his mom’s boyfriend in Ohio who’d beat on him hard a couple times or the rich frat guy Chris blew once for food money.

Chris sang The Night I Died and Mother and Revenge Plan, which was a song Chris had written in his stalk-Lance’s-cheating-boyfriend days. There were others songs that embodied the same spirit, like Pretty Ugly Face and Hate Your Boyfriend. Chris was very proud of that one, even if he knew if anything ever really happened to Fabio, he would be the prime suspect.

There were other ones, untitled half-finished songs that Chris couldn’t seem to finish. He stumbled through a couple of them, barely even aware of Lance’s presence. His fingers, unused to the sharp guitar strings, were bloody and sore. Chris knew he needed to stop, but he couldn’t.

"You should do a solo album," Lance said when Chris had finally run out of words.

Chris laughed, lifting up his middle finger. "Fuck off, Bass."

"I really enjoyed Hate Your Boyfriend, though I’m going to pray extra hard in church on Sunday just in case." Lance slid up the divan until he was close enough to put his hands on Chris’s thighs and his sweat-drenched blue jeans. Chris put the guitar down and watched as Lance took his fingers and kissed each one of them. "He wasn’t the love of my life, though."

Chris wrinkled his nose. "You acted like it, man. Joey was expecting a wedding."

Lance rolled his eyes. "Trust me, I was plenty in love with Fabian, but I hope that’s not the best it’s ever going to get. If it is." Lance put a finger on Chris’s chest and drew the outline of a shape Chris didn’t even need to see to recognise it. "Well, I don’t think my heart can take it."

Chris looked down at the finger on his chest. "Hopefully, your heart won’t have to."

"Hopefully," Lance agreed.

~~~

On the night Lance went off to be inducted into the Mississippi Hall of Fame, Chris sat down at Lance’s computer and brought up Paxil’s official website. In a fit of bravery, he even book-marked it in Lance’s Favourites folder. The pills sat beside him, still in their packaging. Why he couldn’t just take the damned things, he didn’t know. Okay, that was a lie, but still.

Did it have to be so fucking hard?

Chris had been invited to see Lance’s induction, had almost said yes, but Chris needed time alone, and Lance needed to be the centre of attention. Chris had almost told Lance about the video, barely even remembering it was a secret, barely even remembering they had made it all. Challenge for the Children felt like it’d happened a lifetime ago. Chris had no concept of time.

Lights off, Chris sat cross-legged in Lance’s big office chair. He fiddled with his glasses, huffed onto the lenses, cleaned them on his tee-shirt then started reading. His notebook was open to a fresh place in case he wanted to take notes or, and Chris admitted this was more likely, write a song instead, just for the excuse of not having to do this. Chris wanted an excuse for his life.

The pills were yellow. Chris hadn’t known that, being too chickenshit to take them out of the package and all. They also helped control anxiety, which he knew, because, hello, also one of his issues, just not as big. And if he had PTSD, SAD or OCD, it would help. Good to know.

"Stop joking about it," Chris said, pressing the heels of his palms against his forehead. There wasn’t anybody around he needed to impress, not a single person who would be fooled. Chris didn’t even have the convenient excuse of Lance, who was probably having loads of fun.

Chris read until it felt like his eyes were bleeding. He pulled at his eyelashes, trying to imagine what that would be like, crying blood. Sounded painful, anyway, and gross, and morbid, and fuck. Chris sat back abruptly and nearly flipped the chair backwards. This was a bad idea.

Chris put a hand over his heart and reached for the phone. Dr. McDougall first, and there was no answer. She had a husband and a baby, Chris knew. Good for her. Justin next, and still nothing. Probably out with his girlfriend or no, he had a show, didn’t he? The time thing again. Chris couldn’t keep track of its passage. Lance, no. Joey or JC, then. And definitely not his mom.

Joey. He was better with extreme emotion, and he’d probably be home. Chris punched the numbers into the phone Lance had on his desk, his finger slipping off the keypad more than once. When it started ringing, he nearly hung up. Did Joey really need to be dragged into this mess?

When Joey finally answered, he sounded sleepy, but Chris could hear the roar of the television in the background, so he’d probably just been dozing a little. His voice was rough and warm. Just hearing it made Chris feel better. "Hey, Lance. What’s up, man? It’s a little late."

"Joe, it’s me. Hi," Chris said. He had the receiver clutched with two hands.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," Chris said quickly. "I’m just. This is kinda dumb, but I’m. There are things."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I’m ... okay, no, I’m not." Chris took a deep breath and let it out. There was no way Joey hadn’t heard it, but he didn’t say anything, and silence made Chris braver. It was almost like no one was listening at all. "So there’s thing about me. This depression thing. You might’ve noticed. I mean, maybe you haven’t ..."

"I’ve noticed," Joey said softly.

"I didn’t know who else to call."

"Well, I’m glad you called me, man." The whirr of the television went silent, and Joey’s voice was as warm and comforting as Chris remembered. He and Joey weren’t really phone guys. There were exceptions, but they were more about the face-to-face. "Anything I can help with?"

"Probably not. I’m looking at this website ..."

"Let me grab Kelly’s laptop, and we’ll look at it together, all right? Strength in numbers, dude." Chris could hear Joey fumbling with things, but all movement ended with a loud thump. Joey’s chair squeaked as he sat down, and the operating system chirped once. "Okay. Where to?"

Chris gave him the website and listened to Joey as he typed it in, humming. Joey always hummed like it was some integral part of his thought process. It probably was.

They fell into a semi-comfortable pattern where Chris would mention a link and Joey would click on it. Joey was always the one to read it out loud, and somehow, it sounded less like this huge thing when it was coming out of Joey’s mouth. It sounded manageable and normal and a slew of positive things.

"Do you think I should take it?" Chris asked softly, nibbling at his fingernails. They were already bitten to the skin. Chris reached out with his free hand and brought the laptop screen down, plunging the room into darkness. "I mean, it sounds good, right? I know I should take it."

Joey hummed a little. "Do you want to take it?"

"I don’t know," Chris said. It was becoming his stock answer, but it was also the truth.

"What does Lance say about it?" When Chris didn’t say anything, Joey sighed so deeply it echoed in Chris’s bones, right down to the marrow. "Chris, man, you gotta talk to him about it. I mean, I’m glad you talked to me, but Lance. You guys are still good, right? He thinks you are."

"Yeah. We’re great. I just want us to be better, you know? For me to be better for him."

"Don’t make this about Lance, man. Make this about you."

"This is already too much about me, Joe." Chris closed his eyes for a moment, and he could hear the buzz of Joey’s mouth in his ear, always humming. Suddenly, Chris felt bone-tired. "Listen, Joe. I think I’m gonna head off to bed. Thanks for going through all this shit with me."

Joey sighed deeply. He wanted to fight Chris’s obvious dismissal of him, his obvious evasion technique, Chris knew that as well as he knew anything, but there was the sweet sound of resignation in his voice, too. "Consider me a willing member of your support team, all right?"

"Okay." Chris forced his voice to stay even. Inside, he felt the panic rise again. "Thanks."

"Are you gonna be all right, man?"

"Always am. Bye, Joe." Chris hung up before Joey could get a word in edgewise.

~~~

Chris brought the dogs in, putting Jackson and Lexi into the mud room for the night. He and Layla sat on the couch for a while in complete dark. She was a good dog, Chris decided. She’d sit on his lap and let herself be petted for hours if he needed it. She didn’t mind being held in an extended hug, didn’t even mind when Chris pressed his face into her fur. She didn’t ask why.

But she was just a dog after all. She sat still for maybe an hour tops and then Chris got up off the couch and walked her down to the mud room. He wouldn’t have minded having all three dogs out, but there wasn’t enough room in the bed for five bodies, and Lexi was the jealous type.

It wasn’t even midnight yet. Lance probably wouldn’t be home for hours. Chris should’ve gone, should’ve at least tried to support Lance as he received his induction. Lance had been super excited about it, fussing over his hair, what suit to wear, if his accent was strong enough. This had been a huge thing for Lance, and Chris hadn’t gone. And for what? For this, whatever it was.

Was this what it was going to be like forever? If it was, he might as well just leave now.

Lance wanted him to be selfish, to take what he wanted if it was being offered. But that was so fucking idealistic, so fucking Lance, that Chris couldn’t make himself believe it was the right solution. Or any solution, really. All it was, was a bandaid. A way to temporarily cover a much larger scar. And how long would Lance stick around, when all he saw was that ugliness?

Chris undressed slowly, stripping down to nothing. Outside, it was storming again, lightning splitting the sky with only a second’s roar of warning. How did anybody live in this miserable place? The heat, and the bugs, and the thunderstorms. How had Lance come through it so unscathed, so steady in his life like a rock, when everything Lance touched went to shit, too?

Chris laid down on his belly and listened to the rain. His skin itched all over, but mostly on his face, and he pressed it into the pillow, holding his breath, imaging what it’d feel like to be smothered. A warning bell went off in his head: danger, danger, abort, abort. Get up, Chris told himself, get up and turn the lights on, get up and write your songs, get up and count to ten.

But he stayed there, unmoving. He was just so fucking tired, so fucking worn to the bone with this ever present sorrow. Chris clutched the pillow to his face, digging his nails deep in the cotton. He wanted to scream, wanted to let loose with a belly-deep roar, but all that came to him were those same hot tears that he’d wasted on Justin’s shoulder. Chris was too tired to be angry.

Chris felt too tired for just about everything, but especially crying. Always crying. He pulled the pillow to his chest and clutched it, crying harder and harder until he couldn’t even hear the roar of the storm. Pain twisted in his stomach, his lungs ached from lack of breath, and he cried.

Later, once he’d lost track of time completely, the mattress dipped. Chris sucked in a harsh breath, but he couldn’t stop the flood of tears. He pulled his knees up, like if he was small enough Lance wouldn’t see him, but that hadn’t worked since he was a kid, when he’d hidden in the dirty laundry to avoid telling his mom how cold, how hungry, how tired, how scared he was.

But Lance didn’t ask what was wrong. Which was good, because Chris didn’t know.

Lance put his hand on Chris’s back, and that was enough. Outside, it kept on raining.

~~~

Chris had hoped for a day or two of reprieve, a vacation from the bleak reality of it all, but Lance sat down at breakfast the next morning, and Chris knew. His belly dropped to his knees, and there wasn’t any pretending that Lance wasn’t going to bring it, the night before, up.

Worse, Lance made pancakes with chocolate chips and fried up a whole package of bacon. It was like being given a last meal before execution. The fresh-squeezed orange juice convinced Chris of that. But Chris ate, because he was worn thin from how he’d carried on last night and hungrier than he’d been in ages, like he could have eaten an entire pig in one sitting.

"What can I do?" Lance asked, finally. It’d been like waiting for the firing squad to get off their smoke break, trying to guess when Lance would finally speak his mind. Chris had been sure Lance would do it while Chris’s mouth was full, but Chris’s plate was empty. He’d even had seconds. "Is there anything I can do, Chris? I would do anything I could, you know that."

"Tell me what to do." Chris didn’t even have the balls to look at Lance, keeping his eyes on his empty plate, pushing the puddle of syrup around with his fork. "Because, I don’t know anymore. I don’t think I ever did. And I obviously don’t know what’s best for me. Obviously."

"I think you know," Lance said. "Just like I think you’re scared shitless of what it is."

"I ain’t scared of nothing," Chris muttered with his best Southern accent. He flicked his eyes up, and Lance offered him a sad smile. "I keep waiting for it to go away, you know? It always has before, but this time. I don’t know. This time it’s just going on for-fucking-ever."

"What’s different this time?"

"I don’t know," Chris said, slapping down his fork. His plate rattled noisily, so Chris touched his fingers to the edge of it. Lance lifted a cup of coffee to his lips, drank then slapped it back down. Oh boy. "Listen, thanks for breakfast, but I don’t especially want to do this now."

Lance drew his lips into a straight line then nodded abruptly. Pissed off, obviously.

Chris rinsed off his plate and tossed it into the dishwasher. By the time he got upstairs, he was more irritated at himself than he was at Lance. Lance had opened the door for him to walk through, had given him that opening which he could have used to say, "Hey, Lance, there’s this thing I’d like your opinion on, and we should probably talk about it because you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with me, and I know it’s asking an awful lot, but I love you so much."

That was what Chris should have said.

~~~

Despite thinking the heat was going to kill him, Chris stayed outside until nightfall. He half expected Lance to come out at lunch, maybe try to feed him, but there was no sign of him. Maybe he’d gone back to Orlando or Los Angeles unannounced. Wouldn’t that have been funny?

Chris spent most of his time fiddling with his guitar, singing softly under his breath. The calluses were growing back on his fingertips, so it didn’t hurt quite as much to play. Well, it hurt for other reasons, but not for that one. Chris wished there was a switch in his brain. Chris on, Chris off. Right now, he wanted to be off indefinitely. Not dead or anything, just ... turned off.

And Lance still wasn’t coming, which Chris didn’t blame him for, really. Except Chris kinda did, because Lance should have come for him, to make sure he hadn’t drowned himself in the lake or anything. Or that he hadn’t taken too many aspirins and washed them down with a bottle of bleach. Now that would have been funny, so much more than Lance ditching him for greener pastures. Yeah, absolutely fucking hilarious.

Chris put his guitar down and stood up, rubbing his hands together. Swish, swish, swish. It was so calming to hear when Lance did it, but doing it was just making Chris more agitated. Maybe if he was really lucky, he’d work himself up into a panic attack. That would also be a riot.

Chris turned on his heels and started marching towards the house. He didn’t like the shit that was going on in his brain. It was like a hurricane, massive and unpredictable, and he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore it. Scratch that: he wasn’t stupid enough to continue to ignore it. The thoughts in his head, the things he wanted to do to himself. They weren’t feeling much like jokes.

"Hey," Lance said, grabbing Chris’s arm as he passed. Chris startled and looked up from his feet. Lance, he thought, and felt a quick rush of air flow into his lungs. Lance. He had a plastic bag hanging from his arm, filled with sandwiches and Cokes. "You’ve been out here a while, and I thought you might be hungry." Lance paused and touched his hand to Chris’s cheek.

Chris blinked rapidly as tears clung to his eyelashes like stars. His skin felt itchy and unclean, and he rubbed his hands over it, trying to force the feeling away. Chris felt wildly and horribly out of control, like a rabid animal trapped in a cage. There was no way to get that control back. The drugs wouldn’t do it, because they couldn’t, because they hadn’t before.

"Come on," Lance said softly, threading his fingers with Chris’s. "Let’s eat, all right?"

Chris’s mouth felt like it was full of cotton, but he ate to make Lance happy, and to get rid of the shaky low blood sugar feeling dancing through his veins. That probably wasn’t helping any. Lance sat close, his knee always touching Chris’s thigh, and the panic began to dissolve. Chris could feeling it leaving him, seeping out of his pores, pooling around his ankles before dripping off his toes. When he took a breath, the air rushed into him and inflated his lungs.

"How was your thing last night?" Chris finally asked.

"Oh, it was good." Lance dropped his head and smiled, and Chris could practically feel the warmth on his cheeks, knowing he was blushing. Lance always got flustered when too much attention was put on him. "Y’all embarrassed the shit out of me with that video. Thank you."

Chris nodded, trying to smile, but he felt monstrous and stopped. "I’m sorry that I ..."

"No apologies," Lance said, looking up. Chris felt himself shrinking under his steady look, but when he pulled back, Lance caught him by the hand again and held on. "But if you need more help than I can give you, you have to tell me right now. Do you need help, Chris?"

"I think it’s all up to me now," Chris admitted, "but thanks anyway."

Lance squeezed his fingers. "You know I’m here for you."

Chris swallowed, nodding. There it was, the door, and it was wide open again. "I. I mean, I think you and me, we need to talk about stuff." Chris took a deep breath. A door, maybe, but it was like a fucking doggie door and trying to fit through it was almost impossible. "God, man. I don’t know why this is so fucking hard for me. I don’t know why I’m so fucking ... what I am."

Lance lifted his hand and threaded his fingers through Chris’s hair, gently stroking his head. "Sometimes, I think you spent so much time learning how to take care of others, making it all about them, that you have no idea how to take care of yourself in the context of you."

Chris closed his eyes. "I’ve spent thirty-one years taking care of myself, Bass."

"You’ve spent thirty-one years surviving, Chris. It’s not the same thing."

"I’m supposed to be the strong one," Chris muttered, tilting his forehead against the smooth skin of Lance’s palm. He leaned forward and felt Lance’s lips rest on the crown of his head as Lance’s hand slid up the back of his neck and held him there. "I’m so afraid, Lance."

Lance moved closer, spreading his legs so Chris fit between them, holding Chris tightly to his body. They twisted like that, and Chris clung to him, hand fisted in the back of Lance’s shirt. Chris put his face against Lance’s shoulder, and listened as Lance asked, "Of what?"

"Of what I’m going to do to myself. I can feel it all over me, and it’s fucking terrifying. Because right now, I see it, you know? I recognise what it is, but maybe later I won’t. Maybe later, all I’ll see is this fucking useless waste of skin and bones, and then what? Then nothing."

"Then don’t let it get to that. There are things you can do. It doesn’t have to be like this."

"I don’t want to take the drugs," Chris whispered. There it was, finally, the awful truth.

"Why not?"

"Because," Chris said, but that wasn’t a good enough answer and they both knew it.

~~~

In a bizarre reversal of the natural order of things, Justin called before noon on Sunday, maybe. Chris figured it had to be Sunday. He vaguely remembered Lance getting up and bustling around the room, swearing at his tie and ironing his dress pants. Lance kissed Chris on the forehead before he left for ... church? Probably. It all depended on whether or not it was Sunday.

Chris picked up on the eleventh ring. He’d been counting, waiting for it to stop. "What?"

"Hello to you, too." Justin’s voice was forcibly light, like he’d gritted it through his teeth while attempting to smile. That was how well Chris knew Justin. Chris also knew no good was going to come of the conversation. Everything told him to hang up. "Were you asleep?"

Chris glanced over at the clock. Not even noon yet. God. "What do you want, Justin?"

"I just want to chat. See what’s up. How you’re doing."

"Clever, how you so casually dropped that in. I’d be doing a lot better if my asshole best friend would let me go back to sleep." Chris flipped over on his belly so he didn’t have to hold onto the phone, pinning it between his ear and the pillow instead. "Did Lance sic you on me?"

"Actually, no." Justin had a I-will-not-take-your-fucking-shit-Kirkpatrick tone to his voice that made the hair on the back of Chris’s neck stand up. An angry Justin was the last thing Chris needed. "This all could have been avoided if you’d actually called me to say, hey, J, I’m still alive. I’m hanging in there. I’m doing shit to help myself instead of sleeping all day and pushing away my boyfriend and my best friend. This, Chris, is all about you. Talk to me, man."

"Nothing to say," Chris muttered. His eyelashes felt like they were coated with lead.

"There’s plenty to say. Why haven’t you told Lance about the lawsuit yet?"

Chris pinched his lips together. Maybe if he was quiet, Justin would think he’d fallen asleep.

"Ignoring me isn’t going to make me go away. Normally, this code of silence thing of yours is an impressive endeavour, but it’s misplaced here." Justin paused. "I know you’re awake. I’ve spent a third of my life on a bus with you, listening to you sleep. I can tell the difference."

"When did we get married, and can I please have a divorce, you nagging asshole?"

"Ah, so you are in there somewhere. Good to know, man."

"Fuck you," Chris said, completely without heat. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. He’d expected Lance to have a mirror up there, but Lance had dismissed that as way too tacky, and it was distracting, Lance said, to a guy who got off on his back more often than not, watching the twist of his own face as he came. "I don’t know why."

"He knows something’s up, and I’ll tell him, man, if that’s something you really want me to do, but that’s a shitty way of finding out something so important about your boyfriend." Justin had always been crazily unwavering in his optimism about the whole wide world. In that way, he was the yin to Chris’s pessimistic yang. "I know you want help, man. You have problems asking for it, and me and Lance, we know that, but Chris, just tell him, all right? Let him know."

"I can’t promise anything," Chris said quietly. "It’s not like I haven’t been trying."

"Try a little harder, please? There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Chris. Or afraid of."

"Says you," Chris muttered. "But whatever. All right. Can I go back to sleep, please?"

"Sure thing. Love you."

"Love you, too," Chris said, and hung up the phone.

~~~

They didn’t have much sex. A little, sometimes. Chris kinda liked going down on Lance or bringing him off with his hand. If nothing else, it took his mind off everything else, but it didn’t feel right a lot of the time, and Chris rarely got off at all. Sometimes, he would surprise himself, but mostly, the thing he liked was seeing Lance get to that point. So they improvised.

One thing that Chris liked was baths, so they took those together, even when Chris didn’t much feel like doing anything. It calmed him down, made him less mental, so it seemed the perfect place to tell Lance his whole sob story. If he had to know, which maybe he did. Chris wanted them to last, and they wouldn’t, not if they kept going like they were. If Chris kept going.

Lance’s hands were almost too delicate for his body. His fingers were slim, covered in a fine dusting of light hair, and Chris knew he went to some lady who took care of his cuticles. Chris focussed his eyes on Lance’s palm, tracing each deep line with his fingers, barely touching each light one. Lance’s fingers twitched from time to time, but otherwise, he was still, waiting.

"This isn’t new, you know. Me feeling like this," Chris said, turning Lance’s hand over to examine the back of it. There was a pale scar on his knuckle, but from what, Chris didn’t know. "I can’t even say it hasn’t ever been this bad, because maybe it has. The thing is, you forget. Your life is kinda defined, you know, by when you’re depressed and when you’re not."

Lance’s fingers jerked again, his fingers crooking against his palm.

"You become two different people, almost. You don’t act the same. You don’t feel the same. Hell, you don’t live the same. But you look the same. Well, maybe you get fatter," Chris said, trying to smile, but when Lance shook his head, Chris’s lips turned down again. "Sorry."

Lance nodded briefly. "It’s all right. You can’t help feeling the way you do."

"Don’t lie to me, man. You know I can help, or you know I could at least try."

"I know only what you tell me, Chris. Everything else, it’s all just things people say."

Chris snorted roughly, but Lance was stiff against Chris’s back, barely breathing at all, and Chris couldn’t ignore how serious this all was. Could have been avoided if he’d just been able to tell people when he was hurting. Maybe Lance had a point about things. "You asked me what was different this time. It’s true that I don’t know, but Dr. McDougall thinks she does."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Chris echoed, exhaling a sharp breath onto the back of Lance’s hand. "She thinks I used Nsync as that leverage I needed to pull myself out of that hole. And maybe it’s true. Even when I didn’t feel like waking up, I always did. For you guys, you know. I’d feel like shit for a week or two, maybe more, then one day it’d be gone, but I never noticed when I went from feeling so bad to feeling like myself again. We were always so busy. There was no time to think."

Lance’s hand curled around his without warning, twisting their fingers together.

"It sounds like an excuse to me," Chris explained, "so I don’t give it much cred. I’m just telling you what she thinks, but she knows jack shit about me." Chris lifted the hands they had twined, admiring how their fingers laced so easily together. "But I don’t much trust my own thoughts either. How can I be expected to do what’s best for me when I just don’t give a damn?"

"Now that’s bullshit," Lance said. "Wherever you’re at, on some level, you do care."

Chris puffed out his cheeks. "Then why am I not doing what we both know I should?"

"You tell me," Lance replied.

Chris pulled his knees up through the water, sending waves out that splashed against the sides of the bathtub. Lance’s legs tightened around his hips, holding him there. "During the lawsuit, I was in a bad place. We all were, but the stuff in my head, it was dark. Darker than now. That’s what I’m scared of most, feeling like that again, like everything would be better if I was dead."

Lance hooked his chin over Chris’s shoulder. "I don’t think I’m surprised about that."

"No. Probably not, the way I was acting. I wish I could’ve been better through all that, but I wish a lot of things about my life, and none of them ever seem to happen. But maybe you’d be surprised to learn that I was put on antidepressants and that I took them. Would you be?"

Lance nodded, snaking an arm around Chris’s belly and pulling them closer together.

"Prozac, you know. The definitive crazy drug. Justin knew, but only because someone had to, I guess, in case I started acting mental or something. Too much to put on that kid, but." Chris shrugged and shifted a little, letting more of his weight fall against Lance’s smooth belly. He closed his eyes. "I put a lot of my hope on that drug, man. I really believed it would help."

"And it didn’t."

"No, it didn’t," Chris agreed, pulling Lance’s hand against his mouth and holding it there for a moment. "I didn’t get every side effect known to man, just the last ones I needed. Insomnia, nervousness, completely unable to sit still. I didn’t sleep for five days, and by the end of it, I was ready to pull off my own skin with my fingernails. I was having panic attacks four times a day."

"And you’re afraid it’ll be like that this time."

"It made it so much worse, Lance. All those hours I didn’t sleep, I spent sobbing my eyes out. I seriously thought I was going to die." Chris shivered, suddenly cold despite the heat of the water and the air blowing in through the open windows. "I can’t do that again, Lance. There’s not enough strength left in me to live through something like that a second time. I can’t do it."

Lance folded around him a little more securely, moving his lips against Chris’s cheek. "But if you knew for a fact there wouldn’t be any side effects like that, you’d take the Paxil?"

Chris hesitated then sighed. "I don’t know. I want to say yes, but."

"But," Lance echoed, prodding.

"It’s dumb." Chris knitted his lips together and only spoke again when Lance poked his side. "I don’t know. It’s just ... what if I’m not me anymore, if I was to take it? This guy whose naked bits are floating around with yours in this bathtub is a big pain in the ass, but I’ve lived with him for a long fucking time. What if this other guy, who should be better, actually isn’t?"

"Do you honestly think this man you are right now is who you really are?"

Chris glanced over his shoulder, meeting Lance’s eyes. "Isn’t he?"

Lance glanced aside. Too fucking polite, Chris thought, but there was the answer anyway.

"How far away is Wednesday?" Chris asked suddenly.

"Tomorrow."

That was a little sooner than Chris would have liked, but two years from now would have been too soon. Chris had wasted weeks already, and he thought, deep down, he already knew the answer, even if all the thoughts knocking around in his head made it difficult to figure it out.

"I’ll decide then," Chris said firmly, "for real. No more drama. Wednesday."

~~~

In something out of a science fiction film, Chris had his therapy session in Lance’s den, perched in front of a video camera perched on top of Lance’s desk, his laptop rumbling beside it. It was a little weird. Chris hadn’t asked Lance to leave and Lance hadn’t offered to go.

"This is my boyfriend, Lance," Chris said by way of introduction, ducking out of the way so Lance could enter the screen and wave. Dr. McDougall smiled a little, scratching something across her notepad. She’d heard enough about Lance in the last few months that Chris wondered if was at all anticlimactic for her that getting with Lance had proved to be the easiest thing. It was everything else Chris had proven he couldn’t deal with. Lance, though, was a piece of cake.

"How are you doing, Chris?" Her mouth and her words didn’t match up. Weird.

"Oh, I’m." Chris could feel the expectant lift of Lance’s eyebrow from across the room. "I’ve been better, doc. I should have listened to you when you warned me about my idealism. It’s been a rough couple weeks, crying and shit. Pissing the shit out of Lance. Normal, right?"

"Perfectly, Chris." Scritch, scritch, scritch. She kept jotting down notes, and Chris found himself craning his neck, trying to figure out what she was writing. It worked even less well across distances and distortions. He really wasn’t that interesting, Chris thought. "Why don’t we talk a little about what was troubling you. Any suggestions? Tell me what’s been happening."

"Well, it’s been boring as shit here in Mississippi. The bugs suck, and it’s so frigging hot, but my boyfriend seems attached to this godawful place." Over the edge of the magazine, Chris saw a brief smile touch Lance’s face, lighting up his green eyes. "And I’ve been thinking."

Dr. McDougall sat back. "About what, Chris?"

"About the meds and taking them and shit. I still haven’t decided, but there’s this deadline that I made for myself. And Lance here," Chris gestured in his direction, "has me making this list of pros and cons. The jerk woke me up at seven to get started on it. Seven!"

"Is this list helping you sort things out, Chris?"

Chris leaned closer to the computer for complete effect and stage-whispered, "Yeah, but don’t tell him that."

Lance snorted loud enough that Dr. McDougall smiled and scratched down more notes.

After a while, Chris tuned Lance out completely and just talked. It wasn’t easy, but it was getting there. Maybe, in time, he’d stop looking at Dr. McDougall and seeing her as a constant reminder of his failure. Maybe, someday, he’d start seeing her as the doctor who finally helped.


	5. Game Night

Chris was working on his list, chewing on the ear of his glasses and trying to ignore the panic dancing around in his guts, when the doorbell started chiming. The dogs barked wildly in the backyard, and Chris kept on writing with his pencil. Earlier, he’d asked Lance if he’d mind too much when Chris’s sex drive plunged to zero. Wisely, Lance pointed out it already had.

From the kitchen, Lance yelled, "Get the door, Chris!"

"It’s not my house!" Chris shouted back.

The doorbell rang twice more before Chris put down his pencil. He could hear Lance puttering around, opening and closing cupboards, running the water. If Lance was cooking, Chris wanted sufficient warning so he could grab his things before the house burned down.

"Fine!" Chris hollered, standing up. In a battle of wills, it didn’t seem fair that Lance always won. "But if it’s the Enquirer ringing that damn bell like a freak on speed ready to finally out your flaming gay ass, I’m not lying and saying I’m just your roommate, all right?"

"Thank you!"

Chris pulled back the two deadbolts then twisted the handle, pulling the door wide open. He was greeted by Joey’s ugly mug, grinning at him. JC was sitting on the chair Lance had out there, and Justin was beside him, hidden beneath a bucket hat. Shit, Chris thought. It seemed very rude to turn them away, but the last thing Chris needed was more people in his head-space.

"Guess what we, your ready and willing support team, brought?" Joey asked, grinning.

Chris shook his head briefly. He didn’t want to guess. He wanted them to go away.

"Guys," Joey said, and in unison, they started humming the Imperial March. Justin pulled a Star Wars Monopoly game out of thin air, and Chris stepped back as Justin and JC walked it in, holding it above their heads and marching in time. The minute Justin started beat-boxing, Chris was out of there, running back to Orlando if he had to. Stupid jerk friends.

"What are you doing here?" Chris asked, following them inside and locking up the door.

"Man, it’s game night." JC tapped his fingers on Chris’s forehead. "Didn’t you get the memo?"

"I don’t think you fuckers sent out a memo," Chris muttered, trying to get past Justin to Joey, who was heading into the living room. The thing with Joey was he knew how to read, and Chris was bitterly regretting ever phoning Joey up to utilise those skills. Plus, the list. The list was sitting out on the fucking table, and Justin just would not move. When had he gotten so big?

Chris submitted when Justin got his arms around his waist. For a moment, Justin was all around him like the air he breathed, and Chris got swept up into it. Maybe it was good to see him even if the day wasn’t the best. Chris turned around to find JC there and let himself get caught in another suffocating hug. JC was wiry, but he knew how to squeeze the shit out of a guy.

Joey was long gone from sight by the time JC let go. Chris sighed. It was not a reason to freak out, he knew this, but anger was bubbling around in his head, and hey, maybe he was feeling better, if his first instinct wasn’t to bawl his fucking eyes out. That would definitely go on the con list. Chris rounded the corner into the living room to see Lance and Joey talking.

I fucking love you, Bass, Chris thought. The notebook was nowhere to be seen.

~~~

They were only staying for one night. Thank god. Chris tried not to celebrate or anything insulting like that when he found out, but really, they had bad timing, and he just wasn’t in the mood. Hadn’t they learned a damn thing from Challenge? Dumbass friends, thinking they could help. It was a little misplaced, Chris felt, but he also nixed the idea of sending them home.

"No, it’s fine. They can stay," Chris said when Lance asked him in the kitchen, the two of them trying to find something suitably snack-ish that hadn’t already been eaten. Lance had found a bag of rice cakes that he claimed he hadn’t bought. Those went directly into the garbage can.

"I’ll tell them to leave, if you want." Lance appeared from the eyes up over the counter top, forehead deeply wrinkled. A bag of chips appeared beside his head then another. "If you’re not up for it, Chris, I’ll be the bad guy and tell them to get lost. Do you want them to stay?"

"It’s a bad day to come," Chris said slowly.

Lance disappeared into the cupboards again. "It is."

"But I’m mostly done with my list, and I would have spent the rest of the day brooding or something. And, you know, social activities. I’m told they help." Chris leaned his elbows on the counter and puffed out his cheeks, thinking. The initial burst of resentment was tapering off, and he did like game night an awful lot. "Okay, I want them to stay. They have bad timing, but."

"But they mean well," Lance finished, standing up with a third and final bag of chips.

"You didn’t ..." Chris trailed off, wagging his hand helplessly in front of him.

"No," Lance said, and he didn’t even seem mad that Chris even thought to suspect his devious hand in these matters. And Chris didn’t really suspect him, not really, but the niggling question in the back of his head needed an answer. Preemptive strikes against moodiness and paranoia. Chris could be taught. "No, I wouldn’t. Well, any other day, maybe, but today? No."

Chris sighed. "With you bozos watching my back, it’s a wonder I’m still alive at all."

Lance rolled his eyes but laughed a little too as he mixed some dip. Chris reached to trace the rosy skin of his cheek then leaned against him, snaking an arm around his waist. Usually, Chris only tried things like this at night when Lance was asleep. Snuggling things. Lance was always the instigator. Chris was only the somewhat bemused, somewhat rueful receiving party.

Lance turned his smile to Chris’s open mouth. "Hi," Lance said, wrinkling his nose.

"Hi," Chris replied. The pulse in Lance’s neck beat gently against his lips like a song.

~~~

Chris only threatened to tip the board twice, both times because Joey insisted everyone was working against him and trying to force Boba Fett into bankruptcy. It wasn’t a game night without Joey insisting he was being stifled by The Man, but like hell it didn’t piss Chris off every time. Sometimes he looked at these guys and wondered how the hell he’d ever picked them up.

"If you spent a little more wisely," Lance was saying, gritting his teeth.

"You should stop me from buying all these damn Star Destroyers," Joey said helplessly.

Justin slapped his hands down on the table. "Space dollars aren’t candy!"

"Man, they’re Imperial Credits." JC made a general noise of disgust. "Get it right, J."

"Ten seconds till I tip the board," Chris announced, and that shut them up. It always did.

There was method to the madness, somewhere. They spent so much time fighting while they played that when they fought for real nothing could compare to that time Justin had stolen fifteen thousand of JC’s Imperial Credits and caused him to lose the game, or that time Lance had chucked the dice at Chris’s head and nearly took out his left eye, or that time Joey had actually won, leading to hours of protest because, obviously, if Joey had won, Joey had cheated.

Sometimes Chris looked at these guys and felt he owed them just about everything he had to his name and maybe even more than that. His money, his dreams, his life and even that elusive happiness, which always seemed to come and go. Chris owed them more than he could measure.

~~~

By late afternoon, Chris was worn out and needed a nap. Consciously, he knew they weren’t expecting chuckles and sunshine from him, but he felt like he should at least try to be entertaining, even if his jokes fell flat more often than not and he couldn’t be half-assed to smile.

Chris made up some sort of excuse about replenishing the drinks and stole away to the kitchen, where he put his forehead against the stainless steel of Lance’s fridge and just breathed. Justin and Lance were bickering loudly over Lance’s rolling technique, which always seemed to push him right past all the Millennium Falcons Justin had set up on his complete Ewok Village.

"Giving you a headache too, huh?"

Chris lifted his head, straightening his shoulders. Smile, he thought, but his mouth stayed down-turned on his face, heavy the corners. "Hey, C. And yeah, something like that. I love ‘em, but they’re idiots." Chris leaned back against the fridge. "I told you I’d bring you your drink."

"I know, man." JC’s eyes flicked around. "But it feels like we haven’t talked in years."

"We talked at challenge."

"Man, I was so out of it." JC smiled ruefully. "I don’t even remember being there, dude."

Chris drummed his fingers against the cool fridge behind his back, curling his naked toes against the ceramic tile. Chris forced himself to talk. "That’ll learn you to forget the sunscreen."

"Dude, you don’t even wanna see my back. It looks like I’m some sort of reptilian space monster," JC said, which was obviously supposed to turn Chris off seeing it, but JC couldn’t endorse his deformity with something like that and expect Chris to be satisfied with mere words.

"C, that’s fucking hideous," Chris said, twisting up his face as he peered up the back of JC’s shirt, holding the white fabric away from JC’s peeling back. "You’re all scaly and shit."

"I know. First lady I tried to take home made a big deal over it, too." JC craned his neck, and Chris immediately lost the grimace of disgust. Obviously, JC was feeling pretty shitty about it. "My mom says to let it heal naturally, but I’m thinking of trying to get my doctor to fix it."

"Listen to your mom, C. They sound like they’re making shit up, but they know things."

JC sighed then tugged his shirt down. "That’s what J and Joey said, too."

Chris smiled then, and was actually surprised he had. It must have been obvious on his face because JC lifted his hand and touched the corner of Chris’s mouth. Chris smiled a little bit more at that, and JC seemed to take that as some sort of invitation to hug Chris fiercely in the middle of Lance’s kitchen, swaying back and forth. Chris tried to keep his fingers off JC’s back.

"Is it okay we’re here, man?" JC asked softly in Chris’s ear.

"Yeah, it’s fine. I don’t get to see you guys enough, though god knows why I’d want to."

JC barked a fast laugh, his grin a wide slice against Chris’s neck. He shook with laughter in Chris’s arms, warm and happy, and Chris let himself hold JC just a little tighter. Sometimes JC seemed like he’d snap in half if you squeezed too hard, all skin and bones and things, but he was one of the strongest guys Chris knew. JC turned his head. "Are those cats still fighting?"

Chris glanced out the window. "Nah, I think they’ve taken it outside. Probably looking at the dogs."

"I bought Layla more toys, man." JC smiled again then pulled back, keeping a hand on Chris’s shoulder. The other, JC lifted and patted Chris’s cheek. "You and Lance never have kids, all right? My bank account won’t be able to handle it. Brianna and dogs, man, that’s it."

"I hope you don’t ever put any kid into one of those cock-ring collars."

JC shrugged. "Hey, man. I only go with what the style cats tell me."

Chris rolled his eyes, letting the warmth of JC’s laughter rush over him. Outside, Chris could hear the dogs barking, and Joey, it sounded like, barking back, or maybe Lance. Chris imagined Justin’s eyes were rolling as much as his own were. JC turned around, ducking his head to see out the window, then started to move. Chris caught him by the wrist before he took a step.

"Hey, C, did you, you know, ever take anything. For ... things?"

JC bit his lip. For a moment, Chris thought he’d clammed up, but then JC shook his head.

"Just wondering," Chris said, shrugging. JC looked vaguely uncomfortable. The extreme emotion thing. Chris could always count on it to show up, but he appreciated the fact JC had come after him anyway. He didn’t have to, and trying, in Chris’s book, was usually more than enough. Except this time, Chris amended. Just trying this time wasn’t enough to really help.

"You wanna go meet my dog?"

JC’s forehead creased with relief, but he was classy enough to look apologetic, too. Good old C. Completely uncomfortable with emotion, but totally willing to fess up to it, too. That took balls, and Chris admired him for it. JC hooked their arms together. "Yes, please, man."

"Just a word of warning," Chris said.

JC lifted an eyebrow.

"Don’t bend down around her, all right?"

~~~

They went to dinner at the Mercy Street Café. It was Wednesday, and maybe there was deeper meaning there somewhere. Just thinking about skipping the Wednesday thing made Chris feel strangely guilty. It was the one thing, minus those two weeks, he’d managed to do routinely. There was pride in him for that, somewhere deep and hidden. Mostly, it seemed like far too little.

They didn’t leave the house until Lance took digital photos of the board set up to prevent any tampering. It was hard to say who was winning, though Joey definitely appeared to be losing. Some things just never changed, and Chris took small comfort in that. Except that one time Joey had won and set the world asunder. But, obviously, Joey wasn’t going to do that again.

Thank god.

Chris knew he was being too quiet, but they were the guys, and he didn’t have to pretend around them. He had, before, but that was more for his sake than theirs, when he was still pretending, still hiding out, still hoping that no one would notice how messed up he was feeling, how completely out of control. No reason to try now, when they all knew his darkest secrets.

But they were acting weird, too. They were walking into the Mercy Street Café, and Joey hauled Chris into a hug by the shoulders, squeezing the living shit out of him in the parking lot. He and Joey weren’t big on the public hugs. Hell, they weren’t big on the private ones, so it was a little strange. Joey rectified the oddness by giving Chris a huge wedgie. That was better.

Chris pulled at the seat of his jeans, walking even more bow-legged than usual into the restaurant. Joey still had an arm draped across Chris’s shoulders. Chris butted his forehead at Joey’s pectoral, annoyed. "I can’t believe Kelly was fool enough to agree to marriage, you idiot."

"She’s marrying me for my money," Joey replied, shrugging.

"Obviously, jeez." Chris dropped his shoulders, trying to shake Joey off, and when that still didn’t work, body-checked Joey into the door as they tried to squeeze through together. It backfired. They fell outside again, and Chris pointedly ignored the three sets of rolling eyes.

"Oh, Chris," Joey said, batting his eyelashes.

Chris tried to push the fat ass off, but he wasn’t budging. "If you fucking kiss me, I will rip your nuts off, Fatone."

Joey puckered his lips, making a few kissy noises, before rolling off, laughing. "As if. I know where that mouth has been, and honey," Joey jumped up and flopped a wrist around, "I ain’t going anywhere near that." Joey offered his hand. Warily, Chris took it, but Joey just pulled him to his feet without any hoopla. There was a freaky moment of silence between them.

"You mad?" Joey asked, dropping his voice. Chris knew he wasn’t talking about kisses.

"Nah," Chris said.

"Okay, good." Joey nodded at him earnestly. "Thanks, man."

"Okay," Chris repeated, shuffling his feet. He looked down then glanced up again, and Joey still hadn’t fucked off like he should have after that. "Okay, Joe. It’s fine. So stop." Chris shoved at Joey’s shoulder then ducked Joey’s threatening hug. Chris stepped back. "We’re fine!"

"You don’t have to yell!"

Chris punched him in the gut. "I still can’t fucking believe you’re somebody’s dad. Your poor kid, Joe. Me and her will probably end up with the same therapist."

Joey grinned hugely.

Lance stuck his head out the door. "Will y’all get in here already? We’re starving."

In unison, Chris and Joey saluted. Lance rolled his eyes then held the door for them, even though he got slammed between Chris’s back and the door when Joey stopped abruptly. Chris pushed up to his tip toes, peering over Joey’s shoulder. Gently, Lance kissed the back of his neck.

"Man, I didn’t know these things were a chain," Joey said.

Warm on Chris’s skin, Lance laughed.

~~~

Dinner was full of singing, and JC trying to pick up the waitress, and Justin tearing his napkin to neurotic little fluffs, and Joey showing off pictures of his adorable kid, and Lance holding Chris’s hand under the table, which Justin caught them on and proceeded to announce. That, of course, set the three J’s off into a loudly beat-boxed/scatted/hummed version of the wedding march. Chris randomly kicked at legs, but Lance was laughing, and that was nice.

They were trying to include him, but Chris felt hopelessly removed. It was like he no longer fit into the puzzle of them. What was the point if he couldn’t be half-assed to mock JC’s weirdness or annoy Justin to tears or make fun of everything about Joey? Chris was used to entertaining them, even against their will, even when they all hated him for his stupid dumbass jokes. Even worse, Chris got the sense that whenever he looked away, they stared at him.

The mood followed him home, even though he got stuck in the back with Justin and Joey. Usually, that was the most fun place to be, but it was like he was on some sort of crippling time delay. Out of synch, Chris thought, and frowned. They had completed ruined that world. Synch.

They returned to the game, but not before Lance and Justin had compared the set up to the pictures. When the go-ahead was given, Chris settled down and tried to get into it, but he felt itchy and restless and really just wanted to go to sleep or head out for a walk or eat twinkies. The fog was back. It was like there was him and there was them, and never would they meet again.

Chris missed them all desperately.

The thing was, he couldn’t hear them. The laughter, the singing, the jokes. It all touched his ears, of course, but nothing went deeper than skin level. Focussing was impossible, and that was so fucking unfair. These guys were his life, the one thing that had always made him happy without fail, and he didn’t even have that anymore. They were a million miles away, even though he could reach out and touch any one of them for the first time in weeks. He was afraid if he even tried, his hand would pass right through them, like they’d become ghosts, or he had.

When they looked at him, Chris could see only pity in their eyes. He’d never wanted that from them. Growing up it was all he ever saw. From his teachers, from the ladies running the food bank out of the church basement, from every stranger he passed on the street, from himself.

It wasn’t until Nsync that Chris had felt stronger than all the shit in his life, and it had been a hard won battle. In Germany, he’d spent so much time convincing the others that it would work that he never stopped and asked, what if it didn’t? The guys, they’d looked to him for guidance, and he’d come through. In their eyes, he’d seen things that he’d never thought would turn up in looks focussed on him, good things. And now. Now, they saw the weakling underneath his skin.

Chris wanted so badly to be strong again. He would do anything to return to that point, to get back to where he felt like himself, even a little bit. To return to the guys and have it feel right, like it was exactly where he’d spent his whole life trying to get to. Even if he could no longer remember being happy, in the context of his own life, he could remember belonging to them, and that was almost the same thing. Chris would do anything, any damn thing, to get to that place.

Anything, yes, but everything, too.

Okay, Chris thought with a sudden rush of breath to his lungs, okay, you fucking win.

Lance’s voice cut through with a cautious, "Chris?"

Chris snapped back to the room and looked around. All those eyes turned on him, all of them watching him. Was there something on his face? He lifted a hand and brushed it against his cheek, and it came back wet. Fuck, he thought, fuck. Just one tear, but did it really matter?

"I gotta get some air," Chris muttered, pushing Lance’s hand from his thigh and standing up. The chair legs screeched like a banshee across the ceramic tiles. The game wasn’t over, and it was against the rules to leave halfway. Blindly, he shoved his multi-coloured money at Joey. "Here, I will it all to you, man. Just imagine I died in a horrific car accident or something."

The worst fucking thing to say, but Chris’s mouth had always been too fast for his brain.

~~~

Chris practically ran outside, into the heat and the humidity and the bugs, past the dogs, who barked cheerfully at him, always Layla the loudest. Chris headed straight down to the man-made lake, ducking under the mosquito netting and not stopping until he was on the divan. It’d been too long since he’d gotten his fat ass in motion. His lungs were about ready to explode.

Chris rubbed his hands over his face, trying to catch his racing breath. His vision swam in dizzying circles, taking the moonlit slices cutting across the lake and creating a richer tapestry in his eyes. Calming, too, in that way he liked. So much easier to focus on something else.

"You all right?"

Chris looked over at Justin, and nodded. Had been better, when he thought he was alone, but wasn’t that the whole story of his life? His asshole friends wouldn’t let him have a moment of solitude. He’d been doing so much better on his own; it’d been a lot easier to ignore all his shit, to pretend he was fine. What right did they have to force him into this impossible war?

Every right, Chris thought, and it was a good thing, too. Without them, he couldn’t even imagine where he’d be. He was grateful for their help, and it was only his pride that hurt a little.

"You do that a lot?"

"What? The spontaneous bawling my eyes out?"

"That was more like leaking," Justin replied and shrugged, walking over and sitting down next to Chris. His legs were long, covered with fine blond hairs. Chris had spent many an hour sticking duct tape to them while Justin slept and waking him up with a quick pull. Cruel, probably, but Chris’s affection was like that. To be loved by Chris meant to be hurt by him, too.

Chris sighed softly, rubbing at his itchy eyes with a loosely balled fist. "It’s like I started, and I can’t stop, you know? I should probably blame you for doing this to me," Chris said, trying to keep it light and happy, but his mouth just wouldn’t twist into a smile, "somehow."

"How much worse is this going to get, Chris?"

"A lot, maybe, or not much. I guess time will tell. For better or worse, I made a decision back there," Chris said, and he was surprised how relieved he felt to hear it out loud. He’d made a decision, even if it was the wrong one, even if it messed up his life even more than it was already. Way to go, Kirkpatrick. Chris leaned forward, crossing his arms over his knees. "I’ll try the Paxil, and if it doesn’t work, I’ll try something else. I’m not gonna wimp out this time."

"You didn’t ‘wimp out’ last time, you fuckhead. God. That would have rattled anyone."

"Says you," Chris muttered.

"Why do you have to be so hard on yourself, Chris?"

Justin’s voice was oddly wobbly. God, Chris thought in mild horror, he’s about to cry. They’d all turned into girls overnight, but even as he thought that, Dr. McDougall’s voice came into his head, chiding him for playing into society’s definition of a man. Chris didn’t think that when she encouraged him to cry if he wanted that she had meant crying all the goddamn time.

"Kid," Chris said, "hey, okay." But Justin was just shaking his head like he didn’t want to hear it, and if there was one thing Chris hated, it was talking and not having an audience. Chris folded himself across Justin’s back, pulling him into an awkward hug. "You’re right. I’m sorry."

"No, you’re not. You’re not at all. You don’t even know what you mean anymore."

"No, I do. Really," Chris added, because it was the truth. Lance was right. On some level, Chris knew exactly what he was doing, always. "I’m so completely out of my fucking mind at this point. It’s easier if I laugh at it, J, or I’d cry even more than I do already. You know?"

"I know." Justin sighed and shoved at Chris’s knee, but he leaned into Chris’s arms a little, too. "You’re such an asshole, you know that? I liked it better when you were making fun of us. I mean, we could take it. We knew you didn’t mean a word that came out of your mouth."

"Yeah, well." Chris shrugged.

"If I could," Justin said, "I would pick you up and carry you through this. You know that, right?"

"You’d try anyway," Chris lifted eyebrows, "you and your chicken legs."

Justin huffed a rueful laugh then peered up at him. "You really mean it, about the pills?"

Chris puffed out his cheeks and nodded. Slowly, he let the air whistle out.

"Well, good. It’s the right decision," Justin said, "even if I couldn’t tell you that before."

"When I go all mental and Lance leaves me for a guy who isn’t clinging to the ceiling from lack of sleep with a sex drive that would be put to shame by a corpse, I expect you to put up with my sorry ass when I beg to sleep on your couch," Chris said. He wasn’t that surprised to see Justin’s face twist up, all pissed off again. "A little overkill, huh? I’m just saying. Maybe it’s not going to be pretty, and maybe Lance is gonna get tired of it real quick, you know?"

"Lance isn’t like that."

"No, but Lance is idealistic at his worst. Believes in shit working out and crap like that."

"Idealistic, but not stupid. Trust me, it wouldn’t have gotten this far if I wasn’t sure."

A sudden memory of a top secret phone call and a naked Lance came back to Chris like a hammer to the balls. He glared at Justin, who just rolled his eyes. "I’m not sure I like the idea of you and Lance in cahoots about my well-being. One-on-one, J, it’s fucking annoying as shit."

"This is what happens when you make me worry. Sorry," Justin said, sounding stubbornly insincere, the fucker. "But like you said, Lance is idealistic. I just didn’t want him thinking he could heal you with the power of his love. He called me a moronic asshole for that, by the way."

"Good." Chris bumped his shoulder against Justin. "You seriously said that to him?"

Justin ran his palms over his thighs, flattening the wrinkles in his jeans. He nodded. "It takes a certain kind of strength to stand back and watch as a guy you love more than just about anything in this world struggles and fights so hard against something you just can’t understand."

"And you’ve done that."

"I’ve tried." Justin scuffed a hand over his hair, reaching back to scratch at his neck. He looked really tired. The end of a tour was hell, yet here he was, trying to put Chris back together again. "But it’s hard as hell, and I know sometimes I pissed you off, even made things worse."

"Nah, you never did," Chris said. "Annoyed me, sure, but I’m used to that from you."

Justin shook his head, making strange noises of frustration in his throat. "Motherfucker."

Chris breathed in the hot, humid, Mississippi air and almost even smiled about it.

~~~

Chris had forgotten how much he liked hanging out with Justin, even if the kid stole his guitar and wouldn’t give it back. Chris tried to barter its return, but he had nothing to offer Justin that Justin didn’t already have, except one thing. Justin knew it, too. He was biding his damn time, waiting for Chris’s impatience to get the best of him. Justin didn’t have to wait very long.

"God, fine." Chris snatched the guitar out of Justin’s hands. "But just one."

Chris sang him The Pain Song, alternately between strumming the strings and thumping his palm against the body of the guitar like a drum. Chris’s voice was still rough and underused, but weeks of humouring Lance had loosened up his vocal cords enough that it wasn’t painful. Mentally, inside, it didn’t hurt quite so much, either. He wasn’t ashamed of his songs anymore.

Chris sang with his eyes closed, but he knew when he had an audience of four. The air changed somehow, and he could feel the others, standing back, listening. Lance had heard it all before, but he never seemed satisfied, always wanting more. Just for Lance, Chris sang Hate Your Boyfriend and threw in even more "fuck you"’s to the cheating bastard who’d broken Lance’s heart. Good thing, really, in the end. Chris needed Lance more than the air he breathed.

When Chris stopped, JC reached over and plucked the guitar from his hands, pulling it onto his own lap, and they sang, all five of them. It was like a rope through the water, tossed to Chris in the middle of a storm, and he let himself be tugged back, focussing his eyes ahead on what could be and not on what was. Those pills better fucking work, Chris thought grimly.

They sang for hours, all of them covered in sweat by the end of it, parched mouths unable to carry another note. It felt good, though. It felt all right, but Chris wasn’t surprised when Joey cleared his throat and said, "Hey, Chris. There’s no good way to say this, but. Us, we gotta wait."

"To get back together," JC added as Justin nodded. "Things aren’t lining up right, dude."

"Okay," Chris said, and they all looked surprised, even Lance. Chris sighed and shifted a little, sliding closer to Lance, who took his hand and brought it to his mouth. "Guys, I’m no good like this, and these next few months, they could be pretty crazy or, hell, they could be pretty great. Either way, I need time on my own to work it out and get my shit together. It’s okay."

"What do you mean?" Lance asked, lips warm against Chris’s knuckles.

"I mean, I’ve decided I’m gonna try the drugs. For me," Chris quickly added, "because I’m sick of feeling like I’m," Chris didn’t want to say it, but he was gonna say it anyway, regardless the agonising physical pain it was gonna cause everyone to hear it, "out of synch."

All five of them groaned in unison, taken with one deep breath and expelled with another. To Chris’s ears, it sounded like the most amazing song in all the world, and for that brief perfect beautiful moment in time, he felt all right in his skin, like he belonged again, just for a heartbeat.

~~~

Later, when they were all falling over sleepy and the game had been packed away, Chris helped Lance get the others settled in the guestrooms. JC had been declared the winner solely by being worth the most Imperial Credits. Joey had lost, of course, even with Chris’s willed fortune. Chris ragged on him all the way to his room. In retaliation, Joey planted a big wet kiss on Chris’s forehead, but that was all right. Chris was feeling settled and calm, and Joey always meant well.

"You coming back to Orlando any time soon?" Joey asked, already stripped down to his ragged boxers. How Kelly let him get away with it, Chris didn’t know. Joey was a lucky guy.

Chris shrugged. "Someday, I guess. We’ll see how much longer Lance holds me captive."

"You must love him." Joey shook his head. "Mississippi in August, man. Fucking blah."

"It’s not so bad, man, if you’re inside and it’s air conditioned. ‘Sides, Lance, you know?"

Joey’s chest swelled suddenly, but he didn’t get into words like "love" and "forever," even though Chris knew Joey was thinking them. Instead, he just leaned over and whispered in Chris’s ear like it was some huge secret, "I like you a zillion times better than I ever liked Fabio."

Chris smirked. "Wasn’t his name Fabian?"

Joey smacked Chris hard on the back, laughing. "Who the fuck cares!"

Chris snapped the elastic on Joey’s boxers and bid him goodnight with a quiet, "Thanks, Joe," stepping out of the room. Justin was across the hall, sitting on the bed and scrolling through his cell phone. Chris peered over Justin’s shoulder, being blatantly nosy, but Justin just tilted the screen so Chris could see better. Text-messaged love letters, from the hot movie star girlfriend.

"Is that still good?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, it is." Justin pressed his thumb over the top of the phone, and the screen flickered off. With a sudden shift, Justin’s back cracked loudly, and Chris shuddered even as Justin whistled out a sigh of relief, slithering down to the pillow. Chris pulled off his shoes for him.

"You need a vacation, J."

"I’m not moving for all of September, I swear."

Chris rolled his eyes. Justin would last maybe a week of doing nothing before he was out there, performing on the streets and showing up everywhere. Justin wasn’t like Chris. Nothing in this world could make him slow down, but Chris wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing.

Chris didn’t even have a chance to push it further, not when Justin started snoring softly. Carefully, Chris pried the cell from between Justin’s fingers then wrangled him out of his shirt and jeans, even tugging down his shorts. Justin needed a good night’s sleep like he wanted, which included being bare-assed naked while it happened. Chris tucked him in, filled a glass with water and turned off the lights, taking Justin’s phone with him to prevent any early distractions.

Lance was in JC’s room, slathering JC’s back with aloe and looking faintly green. He made vague motions for Chris to take over, but Chris wasn’t going anywhere near that mess. From the doorway, Chris waved good night to JC, and JC waved back, fluttering his fingers.

"No stealing my boyfriend," Chris said, pointing threateningly in JC’s direction.

JC laughed, his eyes narrowing into half-moons. "Man, I love him, but no. I don’t do cock, remember?"

"You just don’t know what you’re missing," Lance said, shaking his head.

JC laughed again, and Chris left them like that, the memory of their laughter warm in his ears. Lance would follow soon enough, and Chris had other matters to deal with that had nothing to do with the reptilian space monstrosity of JC’s disgusting back. Pills and things, stuff like that.

~~~

It was a good half hour before Lance opened the door and started undressing. Chris had already stripped bare and stood at the window, watching the rain roll down the pane of glass and the lightning strike across the sky, splitting it apart with golden threads. There was a glass of water on the table beside his hip, a yellow pill sitting out next to it. The rain had distracted him.

"Mm," Lance hummed as he came up behind Chris, wrapping his arms around Chris’s waist. He was hot all over and strangely soft for a guy who’d turned all hard-bodied in the last year and a bit. Chris leaned back into him and let his eyes close, Lance’s breath warm in his ear.

"Does it ever stop raining, Bass?"

Lance huffed a breathy laugh. "Eventually," Lance said. "You just have to wait it out."

"I’m such an impatient motherfucker, though."

"Oh, yeah?" Lance’s smile split wide against Chris’s neck. "I hadn’t really noticed."

"Better that than a sarcastic motherfucker," Chris said, "you sarcastic motherfucker."

Lance chuckled, low and deep, and it sent shivers down Chris’s spine. In the circle of Lance’s arms, Chris turned around and looked at him. Handsome motherfucker, too. Chris put his knuckles against Lance’s cheek and stroked, loving how the corner of Lance’s mouth quirked upwards a little. Loving all of Lance, really. What a fucking sap Chris had turned out to be.

"Thank you," Chris said suddenly.

Lance lifted his eyebrows, the skin above them creasing deeply.

"For everything," Chris added, feeling heat spread across his face. He wasn’t any good at things like this. "You know, for sticking by me and stuff. For all of it, Bass, the loving me back stuff, and the putting up with me stuff, and the making me feel almost normal stuff without, you know, pretending like I’m all fine and dandy when I’m not. All of it. You know what I mean."

Lance nodded, lifting his arms from Chris’s waist and curling them around his shoulders. The intimacy of bare skin was incredible, Chris had always thought. He really loved being naked with somebody else. It never really made him feel self-conscious or weird, just blissfully free.

"You never asked me why I showed up at your house after the Fabian thing," Lance said.

"Should I have?"

Lance shook his head. "I just want you to know that it wasn’t one of my dumb schemes."

"I’m not sure I believe that," Chris said, smirking. Lance wrinkled up his nose, his mouth taking on a ruefully bemused twist. Chris caught Lance’s lower lip lightly between his teeth and licked a gentle path into his mouth before pulling back. "I know you weren’t trying to heal me with the power of your love or anything like that. You’ve got some brains in your head, Bass."

"You’ve been talking to Justin."

Chris rolled his eyes. "I spend half my life talking to Justin."

"I’d like it if you spent more time talking to me."

Chris consented with a slight nod. "I’m not promising anything, but I’ll sure as hell try."

"Chris, if I don’t know that, I don’t know anything."

Chris squirmed a little closer to Lance, letting himself still for a second just to feel him. Chris trailed his hands over the small of Lance’s back, the wide bones of his hips, the wonderful roundness of his ass. Lance’s body was Chris’s as much as his own was, it felt like sometimes.

"Just one question," Chris said suddenly. "Me, before or after Fabian?"

"Before," Lance said, "but nothing would have been possible until after him."

Chris didn’t ask why. The answer to that just wasn’t important anymore.

Chris turned them around, pushing Lance’s shoulders up against the window and smiling when Lance hissed and murmured, "Lord, that’s chilly." Chris slicked his hands between Lance’s legs, grabbing his cock and stroking upwards. Lance’s shivering gasp was music to Chris’s ears.

It didn’t take long at all to bring Lance to the edge. Chris caught Lance’s heat in the palm of his hand, using the other to stroke Lance dry, well past the point of comfort to some level of sweet torture that brought Lance to his knees. Chris slid down with him, following his skin.

When Lance opened his eyes, they were a bright green. Softly, he touched his fingers to Chris’s forehead and pushed the hair from it, light like raindrops. "I love you something fierce."

"I love you, too." Chris leaned over to kiss him, mostly as a decoy, but he didn’t get far before Lance’s fingers came around his wrist and stopped him from reaching out. Pulling back, Chris tried to look as innocent as humanly possible. "What? I ain’t doing nothing, man."

"You’re about to wipe your messy hand on my curtains, Chris."

"Do you have a better suggestion, Mr. Bass?" Chris leered. "You could lick it off."

"Not on your life." Lance sighed and grabbed one of the drapes. "Go ahead, Chris."

"Thank you."

Chris wiped his palm clean, trying to keep it mostly near the bottom in case Lance’s mom stopped by. He was a gentleman, after all. The floor was making his ass a little chilly. Chris was sitting right on top of the air conditioning vent, but he didn’t have any real impetus to move. Lance was comfortable to rest against, even with a cold arctic wind blowing up his ass crack.

After a time, Chris reached up and managed to get the glass of water off the table without drenching them both. The little pill was slippery between his fingers, but he managed to grab it, too. Lance was quiet as Chris lifted the glass in mock-cheers and said, "Well, here goes nothing."

"Here goes everything," Lance said, correcting him.

"Sorry. Here goes everything," Chris repeated.

With a clink of the glass against Lance’s forehead, Chris took a big gulp and tilted his head back, opening his mouth and dropping in the pill. Resisting the urge to cross his fingers, which was actually pretty easy because Lance grabbed his hand suddenly and held it tight, Chris swallowed hard, and it all rushed down into him, slick down his throat and deep under his skin.


End file.
